


Wolf in the Mirror

by sailtheplains



Series: Mirrorscape [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Blame It On Spirits, Cole brings up the awkward truth, DLC, Dalish Elf Inquisitor, Deep Roads, F/F, F/M, Mama Cass, Momquisitor, Other, Racism, The Fade Did It, Uncle Dorian, Uncle The Iron Bull, Uncle Varric, ancient elves flashback lunch, arlathan is the Black City, bigsisquisitor, elfquisitor, magic has a scent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6793399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an alternate ending I started for "Before the Wolf" (which is now finished and I'll likely be editing as I come across things). Mostly because the ending made me sad (though it seems like the only logical ending, when I considered everything that Solas has done). If you haven't read BtW (haha), folks will likely be lost.</p><p>I put "Before the Wolf" and this into its own little series, Mirrorscape. So I can keep these ones that are in the same version of the universe together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Third Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Should we be telling him all this?” the bearded man asked.
> 
> “Better for him to hear it from us than to let his curiosity drive him to figure it out for himself,” Varric said.  
> \---------
> 
> This is just an alternate ending that I was noodling around with for "Before the Wolf". So I thought I'd put it up in case I ever wanted to write about these folks again. So everything in this version of the "universe" will live in the "Mirrorscape" series I just created. Hahaha.

He awoke.

That, in and of itself, should not have been anything special. Except he was fairly certain he’d just _died_. He took someone’s hand, he remembered. And then nothing. He sat up, shoving a sheet off his legs. The room was pretty but it wasn’t a bedroom. He was lying on a table. It appeared to be some sort of drawing room. There were bookshelves, crammed to bursting with leather-bound tomes. There was a table covered in sketches, drawings and schematics. 

_Where am I?_

The elf swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath. _What happened?_

He looked down at himself. He was wearing robes. They were blue and gold. He didn’t remember them. He reached up, touching his hair. It was about half-way to his elbow. So long again but not…not really long. Seems like it had been really long at one point. Though he wasn’t sure where or….or when.

When?

The door to the room opened. A woman with short dark hair took two steps into the room and shouted in surprise, jumping back into a man walking in behind her.

He looked at the two of them. The woman was a human in unfamiliar armor bearing a white eye. The man was an elf with brown hair and grey eyes, marked as a slave. They stared at him. 

“S-Solas?” asked the woman, circling around the table he was lying on, a hand on her sword.

“Is he undead or possessed?” asked the man, grabbing into the shaft of his battle axe. 

Solas. Yes. That sounded right. Solas.

Solas raised his palms up to….

…to do: something?

He wasn’t sure what, suddenly. He looked at his hands.

“Solas?” asked the woman.

He looked at the woman again. “What….what happened?”

The woman exchanged a glance with the man. “We….you. You were dead. To reform the veil with Ghilan’nain.”

Ghilan’nain...that was a name he knew. The apprentice of Mythal. He’d been the apprentice of Elgar’nan. That’s right—together they had planned to seal away the others by casting the Veil. They’d been victorious. She had wanted him to stay though for some reason. She was dead. They were going to cast together but…but she’d taken the power to do so at the last possible second. Strange, though—he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d been to him. Or any of the others. Why had he sealed them away? Seems like they’d done a lot of bad things. Yes. That was right. A lot of bad things. And he and Ghilan’nain had fixed it. 

So the toll must have been so great that Ghilan’nain had taken magic from him so that he could live?

“Where am I? What year is it?”

The woman was still staring at him. “….west of Orlais. It’s 9:45 Dragon, Solas.”

“Dragon….” He blinked. “Oh yes—dragon. The century’s name.” He’d seen that somewhere. In the Fade, probably.

“Arlath,” said the woman. “Go get Cole and Eckona. And Liesel.”

Arlath nodded and hurried out. 

The woman approached him, letting go of her sword. “Solas….do you know who I am?”

Solas looked at her. He shook his head. “I am sorry. I don’t. I have not had much personal interaction with the humans. I’ve heard that your people are strong and stubborn.”

“…that is true, at least. I am Cassandra. Are you certain you don’t remember me?”

“I am sorry. I don’t. Did you bring me here?”

Something changed in the woman’s face. He felt faint concern in her somewhere and something else, deeper, like the cold grip of realization. Though he wasn’t sure why. He remembered the Elders but not the feelings associated with them. He remembered Ghilan’nain was his friend and she had died. He remembered being in the Fade for a long time. But he couldn’t remember a human woman.

The door opened again. Two people who felt very, very _strange_ entered the room. And then the elf from earlier and then another elf, an unmarked woman with sharp features, like a rat or a mouse. 

Whoever she was, apparently seeing him struck something in her. Her eyes went wide and shiny, the male elf had to grab her under her arm (her right arm, he noticed, because her left arm was gone) when she seemed to lose the feeling in her legs.

The very strange boy and girl walked up to him.

“Hallo, Solas,” said the boy.

Solas looked at him. The boy was disheveled, blond hair hanging in his eyes. He looked very tired with the heavy circles under them. But his eyes were an amazingly pure and brilliant blue. They were like…aquamarines. The girl who felt very strange had brown hair. It was long and tangled and mostly a mess. Her eyes were grey-green, like mist on the sea. Her skin was nut-brown. 

“Hello, Solas,” she echoed.

“Greetings,” Solas told them both. “You both feel….strange. Are you both Fade-touched?”

“We’re _from_ the Fade, Solas,” said the boy. “My name is Cole. And this is my friend, Liesel. We helped you and Ghilan’nain fix the sky.”

“You are spirits?”

“Yes,” Cole said softly. “You won’t remember everything. The Guide asked us to take some of that. It was very painful. She wanted to ease your pain.”

“So I took the other Elders and gave them to her and Cole helped you _forget_.”

“Forget what?” Solas asked, staring at the two of them.

“I had to do a lot,” Cole said, looking down. “Had to take a lot so you could still make sense but not hurt anymore. You were hurting so much.”

“Solas….”

He looked passed the two spirits. The white-haired woman was getting up from a chair now. Her legs seemed to be shaky as she staggered across the room to him.

Cole looked a little sadly at her. “I’m sorry, Eckona. He won’t remember you.”

The woman didn't appear to hear him. Solas felt intense distress from her. Distress and anger and _you're alive_ and _how_ and _love_. She reached out to touch his face and he let her, watching her. But when she made to embrace him, he jerked back on reflex. “Ah, lethallan, I don’t—ah—” 

Something in her eyes broke apart. “S-Solas…”

The intensity of her despair hit him like a brick wall. She took a step back from him. The human woman from earlier—Cassandra? She went to the elf and drew her away, leading her out of the room. 

Cole and Liesel exchanged a glance. 

“I’m sorry,” Cole said. “She wants you to remember her very much. But you won’t. You will have to know her again.”

“Who is she?” Solas asked.

“She loved you very much. She came a long way to try to save you. Her name is Eckona.”

“I’m sorry…” Solas said, quietly.

“No—I took it away. It was tangled with the other hurts and I couldn’t make the strings come free without unraveling all of it.”

The door flew open, banging against the back wall. A man burst in, skin the color of amber and hair dark as night. He was leaning on a crutch. “I just saw Cassandra! She said—“ and he stopped mid-sentence, staring at him. “Solas…you’re alive...”

“It seems I am,” Solas agreed. “Who are you?”

The man blinked at him. “What?”

“He doesn’t remember, Dorian,” Cole said. “He doesn’t remember any of us.”

“Not even—“

“No,” Liesel said.

Dorian stared at them for a long moment. “I see. Well…” He walked into the room. “Ah, hmm. Well. Solas, my name is Dorian Pavus. I’m originally from Tevinter.” He bowed a little over his hand. “Um…I don’t hate elves. I don’t want to enslave anyone. And I am a mage.”

Solas returned the gesture, inclining his head to him. “Were we acquainted?”

Dorian’s mouth opened but for a moment, he was silent. Then he said, “Yes. For what it’s worth. I considered us friends.”

“Then perhaps we can be friends again,” Solas replied carefully. The man seemed cautious and, though a human, he sensed a certain intelligence to him. Far different from the humans he remembered. “How long was I asleep in the Fade?” He asked the two spirits.

“A thousand years,” Cole told him and touched his shoulder when even Solas looked surprised. “A very long time. You have a lot of things to know again.”

“About five years ago, you woke,” Liesel said. “And you helped defeat someone very bad. But then you had madness for a while.”

“That was why I had to take so much,” Cole said. “The madness was very deep because of all the sadness and hurt. We had to save you from yourself.”

Solas peered at them. “And the only way to do so was to…take away my memories?”

“Yes,” answered the strange boy. “You thought killing a lot of people would restore things that were lost. But it didn’t. And it wouldn’t have.”

“I….did something terrible. Like the Elders?”

“Not so bad as them,” Cole said quietly. “But….bad.”

“And that woman came to save…me?”

“Yes, I came with her. We all did. To save you,” Cole told him.

The door opened again. A huge Qunari, a human with a beard, a dwarf and yet _another_ elf--another _unmarked_ elf--entered the room. 

“You all keep a variety of company,” Solas said to Cole.

The Qunari lifted an eyebrow and looked at Dorian. The human mage looked away. “He can’t remember us.”

“You’re shitting me,” said the huge man, looking at him. “You don’t remember any of us?”

“Solas,” said the bearded man. “Do you know where you are?”

Solas looked at them helplessly. “I don’t. The west, I was told.”

“What—yeah right. C’mon, stupid Solas—don’t you have to lecture us about elves or how you’re better than us or tell me to use magic?”

Solas peered at the blond elf. “You already use magic.”

“See! He has to remember us. There’s no way he would know that.”

“Sera,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Mages can _sense_ it when you have magic.”

“….oh.” Sera huffed.

“Yours must have manifested quite late?” Solas asked her, erring on the side of politeness.

Sera stared at him for a long moment. “….I….what? Is this—you _pisser!_ Are you _serious_?!”

“I believe so,” Solas answered.

The dwarf came around them, standing in front of the low table he was sitting on. “Chuckles….are you…” He took a deep breath. “My name is Varric Tethras. I used to call you Chuckles. But I guess that doesn’t really work anymore. Do you remember _anything_?”

“I remember Ghilan’nain. We cast the Veil to stop our Elders. They were going to do something terrible. I suppose the effort must have sent me into Uthenera. I was supposed to die.”

“Ghilan’nain asked us to save him if we could,” Cole said softly. “She took the Elder spirits from him. Dirthamen, Andruil, June and Mythal.”

Varric crossed his arms. “So almost nothing from the last five years?”

“Which Veil casting is he remembering? The first or the second?” Dorian asked.

“Wait, what?” Solas asked.

“The second,” Cole said, at the same time. "That is the only thing he knows from this time."

“Should we be telling him all this?” the bearded man asked.

“Better for him to hear it from us than to let his curiosity drive him to figure it out for himself,” Varric said.

Solas had become quiet, watching them closely. “I believe you should tell me what has happened.” He swung his legs off the table and stood. Cole reached out to steady him.

“You may want to sit back down,” Varric advised him.

 

 

 

Eckona sat outside on the observatory platform. She rocked back and forth quietly, just watching the ocean crash into the rock hundreds of feet below. Her initial reaction had….been intense. And probably not helpful. Her stomach hurt. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting Solas to a functional state to deal with the world. If he was going to be here, he would have to relearn everything from the last five years. That was more important. And probably best handled by the others. It didn’t take an arcanist to see that her own feelings towards him would definitely impact her interactions with him. That would be unfair and, likely, extremely stressful for him. He seemed to remember the Elders and Ghilan’nain—but not the intensity of how he felt about them. It would ease his pain when he eventually learned what he’d done. 

She stared at the stars, still rocking back and forth quietly. The rhythm was soothing somehow, focus on the movement for now. Just the movement.

The crackle of glass let her know when someone approached. They hadn’t yet gotten around to cleaning the place up yet. She didn’t look up though until Sera sat down beside her.

“Hey. You all right?”

Eckona couldn’t bring herself to look at her. “No. Not really.” She looked down at her knees. “How is he?”

“Recovering. Varric just gave him the basics of what happened. It’s hard to hear that you went crazy and thought about murdering the ‘lesser’ peoples of the world.”

“I can only imagine,” Eckona said softly.

“He doesn’t remember any of us. He asked me if Arlath was my slave. My _slave_. Because of his elf face-dealies. So. Had to explain all that too. He’s offered to remove them for him and Anock though.”

“That’s good,” Eckona said faintly.

Sera was looking at her. She could feel it. 

“Ecks….he….he doesn’t remember you now but…that doesn’t mean that, you know, it’s all lost.”

“I know,” she said softly, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

Sera was quiet for a moment, fidgeting. “We, uh—me and Solas—when we were fighting Sylaise. It was, uh, pretty amazing, you know? I…it was seamless. I’m not sure how to describe it. Like when I shoot arrows. We never missed. I guess I mean—I see what you meant now by how me and Solas are the opposite but….also the same.”

Eckona was quiet for a long moment and then she said, “You know, I’m afraid of the dark. I have been for a long time. When I look at the ocean—during the day, it’s beautiful. But at night, it looks like a massive pit of darkness that will swallow us all up and we’ll die. Cold and alone and helpless.” She gazed over the sea. “I love the ocean….but I also hate it. Because at night its just this huge horrible void of darkness. After sunset, I don’t even like leaving the windows open if they face the ocean. But during the day, it’s so magnificent. Its possibility and fantasy and adventure. Across all that water, there are other lands and other people that we don’t know anything about. There could be other elves there who never perished but lived on. Incredible new magics to discover, perhaps the dragons are still wise and thoughtful and able to speak—like it’s said they could in the past…”

“Ecks…..”

She glanced sidelong at Sera.

“Don’t leave yet. He…”

“It would be kinder to him in the long run.”

“That’s not why you’d leave, if you did. This is just one more thing, right? You had to watch him die with Ghilan’nain and accept it. And then he suddenly springs back to life and can’t remember you. That’s deep shit, Ecks. If I was you, I’d be looking at running away too.”

“So why are you telling me to stay?”

“Because you’ll never forgive yourself if you go.”

“Don’t get all thoughtful and considerate on me now, Sera,” she said, half-smiling.

“No one stays the same after a story like we’ve had. Everything’s changing always. He’s different now—but at the core, he’s probably the same stupid pisser you liked so much. It’s as good a time as any to figure out what brought you idiots together. If it was just circumstance and you being the Inquisitor—or if there was actually some substance to all that shit. If it was just circumstance, then piss on him and tell me when you want to head across the sea. I’ll go with you.”

Eckona looked at her. “You would come _with_ me?”

“Tch, yeah! Brand new lands and people—or we die from sea monsters. Sounds fun to me.”

“And if I don’t want to fight anymore?” Eckona asked softly, closing her eyes to try and keep her composure.

Sera bumped their shoulders together. “Then you don’t, Ecks. I’ll still come to your birthday parties.”

Eckona opened her eyes and looked at the other elf. “Thank you, Sera.”

There was a sweep of glass as someone approached. Sera turned. “What’s up, Dorian?”

The Tevinter mage looked uncomfortable. “He, ah…Solas, I mean. He….would like to….meet you. Eckona.”

Sera reached over, gently touching her shoulder.

“All right,” she said softly and got up. “But after that, I want a bath and sleep. And I should move my pack out of his room.” 

“I’ll get ‘em,” Sera said. “Go on.”

Eckona looked at her. “….thank you, Sera.”

She followed Dorian into the observatory, through the hallway to another of the various rooms in Solas’ private study. Dorian paused before he opened the door, looking at her. “Eckona…can you…are you sure you can do this right now?”

She nodded. “I have to. Ha. I must.”

The mage took a deep breath and opened the door. They’d moved to a different room, one with a large table. He was sitting at the end of it with Cassandra. The two of them looked up when they entered.

“Can I bring you anything?” Dorian asked gently.

“I have some coffee beans in my pack. If you can get them from Sera…”

“I’ll make some and leave it on the sidebar by the door out here.”

“Thank you, Dorian.”

Cassandra walked around the table and gripped her shoulder bracingly before she left the room. Dorian closed the door. 

So here they were. The two of them. He stood up, just looking over her—like if he studied her, he might find something familiar.

She cleared her throat. “Um. All right. Well. I’ll just jump in here.” She wrung her fingers into her tunic, walking over to the table. “My name is…Eckona of clan Lavellan.”

“They tell me that the Dalish are the modern descendants of the ancient elves. It was as such in the Fade.”

“Yes. And before you discover it again—yes, there are many things the Dalish got wrong. They weren’t there when you were and they’re trying to preserve the culture after centuries of slavery. Our people have lost a great deal. But…I’d like to turn this place into somewhere that could research elves and their history. You would be an invaluable asset to that.”

He was watching her closely. “I see. Thank you for telling me that, lethallan.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, busying herself by sitting across the table from him. “I can answer questions, if you’d like…about the Dalish or…about elves in general. I’ll answer the best I can, anyway.”

“I believe I learned a great deal about them in the Fade. I was more curious about you. The child of stone, Varric, told me that you are former-Dalish and I removed your _Vallaslin_.”

Eckona pressed her lips together tightly. “Y-yes,” she affirmed. “You did. And I was.”

“They said I also removed a strange twin-binding from your back that basically tethered you to your own brother.”

“Yes. You did.”

“Who….what were we to each other?”

Eckona shuddered a little, swallowing down the urge to sink into the floor. “We…were very close, Solas. Very close.” She still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I say that to be honest. Not because I expect anything,” she told him. “You don’t remember me. I wouldn’t expect you to suddenly feel like you needed to…or…that we needed to….be…like that again.” She took a shaky breath. “But, please know that—whatever you need, I can help you. I will help you, no matter what. And if we never get to that place again, it’s all right. I want what’s best for _you_ , Solas.”

He stared at her helplessly. The pain in her eyes made him wish he _could_ remember her. “I…we could be friends, perhaps?”

She nodded at the table. “I would like that,” she said faintly. “But…I know that I’ve changed a lot since we first met…I mean—the first time, four years ago in Haven. I was…different then. I’ve become, ha, a little more….I don’t know. I adapted, I suppose.”

“They told me you were the Inquisitor and you led the others to fight one called Corypheus.”

“Yes.”

“The world does not always leave a place for kindness in such turmoil.”

She felt her heart clench. She blinked quickly. “I…yes. That’s right.” 

“But I sense kindness in you.”

She looked down at the tabletop. “I would not know, _hahren_.”

Solas studied the white-haired elf. She looked miserable and she was trying so hard to keep her composure. Her eyes were bloodshot and held back tears made the green shiny and organic. He felt off-footed. Whoever she was, he had apparently meant a great deal to her. “I…do not wish to cause you pain, lethallan.”

“Ah,” she said, forcing a smile and reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry. A great deal has happened in the last few days and much more over the last four years. It will take me a little time, I think—to…come back completely.” She stood up.

He did too, though he wasn’t sure why. He searched her face, wondering what she’d looked like with the _Vallaslin_ and whose mark it had been. Those cruel tattoos—gone now. At least for that. She would not be marked a slave.

“I can show you your rooms, if you like. I imagine you might like to rest before we…commit Ghilan’nain to the pyre.”

He nodded and followed her through the winding hallways that he could not remember. She led him to a magnificent door of white beech and carved with extensive scrollwork. He studied it as she opened it gently. 

“These are your apartments, _hahren_ ,” she said.

He looked down at her hair again. She said _hahren_ as if she were accustomed to saying something else and whatever it was—she was afraid of slipping and saying it again. He could guess the word—after all, she knew where he apparently slept. He followed her as she showed him his library, a bedroom and wet room with a stone bath. She drew back curtains to display the massive, clear windows that framed the surrounding rock and water in crystal detail. 

In front of the window, she stopped and smiled faintly, as if remembering something. And then she seemed to take a bracing breath and turned to him. “ _Hahren_ ,” she said, “I…I am so glad that you’re all right. I was hoping I could…um…” she twisted her hand in her sleeve, lowering her eyes. “….I was too quick earlier when I tried to touch you. I…didn’t realize you didn’t remember. I’m sorry that I disturbed you. I was just…very,” she paused as she searched for a word, “….happy. To see you alive.” She cleared her throat to try to cover how her voice cracked and then reached out with her right hand. It was trembling a little as she lightly touched his sleeve. “I…wondered if I could…”

He realized what she was trying to ask. “Yes, lethallan. I could not deny you that—after everything I’ve been told that you’ve done. I…cannot imagine what I could have done to earn such regard but I am very…humbled by it.” 

She did not meet his eyes but stepped forward slowly—giving him plenty of time to change his mind—and she embraced him. He felt her shudder against his chest and he automatically put a hand in her hair, gently. Her grip tightened, right hand curling into his shirt and then, just as quickly, letting go and stepping away. She thanked him in a quiet, choked voice and then inclined her head to him like he were some lord.

“If you…need anything. Anything at all. Um—please don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here to help you, _hahren_.” She turned away and left him standing by the window.

 

 

 

That night, he was in his chambers when the warrior, Cassandra, knocked on his door and he followed her out to the observatory platform. A pyre had been built and Ghilan’nain arranged on it gently. 

Anock took a torch but stood back. “Master Solas…if you…wanted to…say anything?”

Solas walked up to the pyre, examining a beautiful elf with shining white hair and terrible pits where her eyes had once been. She was his friend, he knew. Perhaps occasional lover but mostly his friend. He remembered that but the intensity had been softened by the spirit, Cole. So not to pain him as much. It was strange knowing that and seeing the body and not feeling what he thought he should. But he remembered Ghilan’nain was practical and kind. If he got the chance to live on, she wouldn’t have wanted him to just be in pain. If all he had was pain, then he might as well be dead. “Walk the Fade, my friend, until I join you again.”

He reached out to Anock, who obediently gave him the torch. He lit the pyre himself and held Ghilan’nain’s hand until the flames licked high and hot. Then he backed away.


	2. Building Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, so no one goes to this thinking its new--alternate ending for Before the Wolf where Solas survives. Not exactly stand-alone.  
> \-------
> 
> Josephine smiled gently. “My lady, it may not have grooves and gauntlets but when others turn their noses at us in our skirts and make-up, they do not realize that that is just another form of armor for us. You don’t want blood on your dress, you don’t want to smear your lipstick—so you finish fights decisively, quickly—like a flower that hides a bee. A woman can’t cry with make-up on or it smears in ghastly ways. So you don’t cry. You show no weakness.”

Eckona entered the dining room. The large room had a large table and several chairs strewn about. The others had made themselves comfortable and were eating breakfast. 

“Snow, have a seat,” Varric told her.

“Hello, Varric. How are you feeling?” she asked, wandering to the table and sitting down next to Sera, across from Solas.

“Not as jumbled. If this is what everyone else feels like all the time—then maybe I can understand why so many of you are crazy.”

“Can’t argue there.”

“Magic is a gift, child of the stone,” Solas spoke up, looking puzzled. “You might learn to use it.”

“Please stop calling me ‘child of the stone’. I’m not a child and I wasn’t born underground. I have no stone sense, Chuckles.” He shook his head. “I need to think of a new nickname for you. Anyone know any famous amnesia sufferers off the top of their heads.”

"You mean besides her?" Iron Bull asked, grinning and pointing at Eckona.

"Yes, besides me, you asshole." Eckona grinned at him, chuckling.

“I used to but I forgot,” Sera told him.

Varric chuckled and shook his head. “You tried, buttercup. You tried.”

“You should be ashamed of that joke,” Dorian told her, smiling. 

“Why such hesitance to learn about magic? You have it, as do you, Sera. Why not learn?” Solas told them.

“We been through this, Solas,” Sera snapped. “I know you don’t remember but I’m telling you _now_. I don’t care what you can teach me about ancient elves. I don’t want to learn magic from you. I can learn what I need to just fine on my own.”

“Why the arrogance?” Solas asked her.

The table became quiet.

“Piss, like you’re one to talk. It’s none of your business. Leave it at that, elfy. I’m trying to like you.”

“You liking me doesn’t matter. It is part of who you are.”

“Solas,” Eckona said quickly. “Um—maybe…don’t. Just. Don’t.”

“None of it has been part of who I am. Maybe you and your pisscock friends, yeah. But not me. I’ve always used a bow. I’m not switching to a staff just for you.”

“Of the elves I’ve met so far—you are…the farthest from what you were meant to be.”

Sera couldn’t seem to help it. “Who the piss are you to say what I should _be_ or _not_ be. I’m me. None of that ancient shit matters. The ancient elves weren’t victims at all. They were arseholes. Just like everyone else.”

Solas startled, staring at her. 

“Sera,” Eckona raised a hand up. “Let’s just—“

“Have you no pride, no concern, no place at all for the elvhen?” Solas asked her. 

“The _elvhen_ ain’t done shit for me, Solas. The only thing the elves got us were a bunch of mass-murdering arseholes.”

Eckona put her eyes in her palm. She should have expected this. Solas had lost most of the last five years. He didn’t remember any of them. Of course, they would have to go through all this stuff again.

“Would you not even listen? I studied the Dalish in the Fade, they remember nothing well or correctly. You are all as children,” Solas said, the frustration evident in his voice. 

“Guys….” Eckona started, rubbing her temples.

“I ain’t Dalish. I never was. I was raised in a human city.” Sera pointed at her cheek. “See. No face-dealies.”

“So I did not remove them, like I did for her?” He looked at Eckona.

“Despite what you might think, elfy—my life doesn’t revolve around yours. You hold on to stupid arseholes, you can’t see anything beyond your own fucking nose.”

“I’ve heard the word used for elves like you when I was in the Fade,” Solas sneered. “You’re just as bad as the Dalish—unwilling to listen, unwilling to learn, unwilling to understand how little you know.”

“If the word is _bitch_ , don’t worry, I’m all right with that.”

“How do you manage these elves?” Solas snapped, looking accusingly at Eckona. “You turned away from the Dalish, did you not? You know how foolish they are.”

Sera snorted. “Says the one who can’t develop a real personality and clings to a terrible past that he’s desperate to pretend was worth all the damage he did.”

Eckona stood up, seeing how his eyes flashed. “Okay—maybe we should separate for now. You both should cool off. Let’s not get too wound up here.”

“Piss on that,” Sera scoffed, standing up and glaring at Solas. “He’s somehow _worse_ than when we met him the first time. He still thinks he’s the only one who knows best. That his rigid standards for what it means to be an elf are the only ones that matter. Well, surprise Solas! It’s not. Your opinion means piss to me. I tried to tell you not bring this shit up—but you just can’t help it, can you? You _have_ to be right.”

He stood up, glaring back. “Excuses are all you give then to justify your stubborn ignorance. Perhaps _knife-ear_ really _is_ the best word for you.”

The other elves in the room gasped. Even Sera’s mouth fell open.

“Whoa!” Eckona said sharply, raising a hand to him. “No! None of that racist bullshit, Solas.”

“You were _Dalish_ ,” he said. “You left them behind. You _know_ now how ignorant they were. How stubborn they were. If I removed the markings from your face then you of all people should understand. Humans created that word, _knife-ear_ for ones like _her_. Ignorant, lazy, foolish, like a child having a tantrum.”

“Sera is my friend. _Our_ friend. Don’t start down this path _again_ , Solas. It will tear you apart.”

“I have only _your_ word on that.”

Eckona stared at him, looking wounded. “…Solas—we…I…”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Sera growled. “Do you know how much I put into finding you? But because I don’t think like you—now it’s vast assumptions and generalizations about all of us? Are we _all_ a bunch of knife-ears to you?”

Solas huffed, suddenly seeming aware of all the eyes on him. “Yes,” he said sharply. “You hold so tightly to your ignorance. The poor and destitute of the alienages don’t care and don’t matter. You have all the reasons in the world to at least _wonder_ and you squander it. Knife-ear—“

Eckona was over the table in a flash. She grabbed his tunic and slammed him back into the wall, rattling a shelf above his head. “This…this is not who you are,” she said stiffly. “This…racist and full of disdain and hate. That’s not who you are.”

“It is, actually,” Sera said. “He changed when you closed the rifts, right? Fat chance of doing that again. Can’t imagine you can make the _whole world change_ twice. You’ve only got _one_ arm left.”

Solas stared at her, and then looked at Sera, confused by her words.

“I know you need time to adjust,” Eckona said, fighting to keep her voice even. “But racism, prejudice—that’s unacceptable. Everyone should be free to be themselves. Dorian came from a land where slavery is normal. But he came south and he works every day at fighting against the prejudice he was _indoctrinated_ with. You spent a thousand years in the Fade—what does it say for you that you can’t even do what a human mage from Tevinter can do? It’s about strength of character. I know you can learn. I know you can change. I watched you do it for nearly two years. She doesn’t need to change so that you can _like_ her. You have to learn to accept people as they are because you don’t know everything. You don’t have all the answers. You wear your prejudice like a badge of pride—like you’re just a silly child. An ignorant child. Only the ignorant cling to prejudice and racism to justify their actions. Only the weak cling to those things. You are _better_ than that. I had better _never_ hear that word thrown around like that again.” 

He stared at her in amazement, in disbelief that she would speak to him like that.

She let go of his shirt and turned on her heel to walk out.

Sera threw her fork down and used both hands to flip him off as she strode out.

Iron Bull wiped his hands on the table cloth. “Is there anymore orange juice?”

 

 

“Eckona! Ecks! Wait up, you--!”

Eckona whirled around. “You _knew_ it would set him off, Sera! You knew that! Why would you antagonize him?!”

“Me!” Sera startled. “What—he’s the one that’s stupid!”

“I know! But it’s not like that’s any fucking surprise! He was like that when we first met him—he was just more careful about saying anything. He changed over time! You _know_ that! Getting into an argument with him—“

“He needed to hear that shit you said! Dorian gets way more shit than we do! He needs to hear that his view isn’t the only one that matters! He needs to hear all of it now, right at the beginning. When you first met him, you were too timid to say anything but now you’re not!”

“There is a _time_ and a _place_ for those discussions, Sera! Not just whenever you feel the whim! And bringing up what he said to me will just confuse him—“

“Good! He _should_ be confused! He needs to see right away that his prejudice isn’t going to be put up with this time! That we won’t let him go down that road again!”

Eckona touched her forehead. “I would rather him not _want_ to go down that road….rather than us have to force him off of it.”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want!” Sera snapped. “And you pretending this is just the happy ending to a bad dream—“

“Sera,” Eckona snapped, with such forbidding that the elf stopped. “Don’t. I know better than anyone—what will happen…what he’ll….” She took a deep breath. “Just. Try not to pick fights with him. Take a deep breath. Come get me. I will talk to him. Attempt to learn and practice a _sliver_ of fucking self-control, Sera. Try.”

Eckona caught sight of Minaeve, hesitating further down the hall. She sighed. “Minaeve—what can I do for you?”

The alchemist looked between them and held out a roll of paper. “We received a bird from Antiva City, my lady.”

“Just my name is fine, Minaeve,” Eckona said, taking the roll of paper and uncurling it.

Sera huffed and whipped around. She stomped back around the corner to go finish her breakfast—

And found herself face-to-face with Solas. She stared up at him. “What the piss are doing out here? Creeping around? You followed us so you could listen?”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t let it change your opinion of me, elfy. I got breakfast to finish.” She scowled, stalking passed him.

Solas watched her until she disappeared back into the dining room. And then he turned his gaze forward again, slipping up to the corner and stopping at it to listen.

“This is from Josephine—oh good. She and Rainier have made it to Antiva City. It sounds like she received word from Orzammar,” Eckona was saying to Minaeve, turning to slowly walk with the alchemist.

“The Inquisition has disbanded—perhaps they still think we are the only ones capable of helping. I imagine it must be chaos down there now,” Minaeve said.

“Yes…” Eckona said softly, flattening the missive against a wall. “Severe collapses in the Deep Roads, darkspawn—ugh, of _course_ darkspawn—and they’d like us to come check it out.”

“Should I make arrangements then?” Minaeve asked quietly.

Eckona did a slight double-take at her.

“Master Solas had me do those things for him. I…actually kind of liked it. I’ll get supplies and passage arranged. The river would be the quickest method of reaching them.”

Eckona smiled a little. “Yeah—that’d be…thank you, Minaeve. You know…I’m glad you’re here. I always wondered what had happened to you.”

“I’m glad I can help.” 

“Thank you again, Minaeve, for staying.”

“I have no where else to go—but…you were also always kind to me. And so was Solas—at Haven and at Skyhold. I hope he remembers you eventually. When he was here…alone….”

Eckona looked at her. “….did you shadow him a lot when he was here?”

“Yes…as Fen’Harel he was….it was different. He was kind, still intelligent, helpful but….but his smile never touched his eyes. It all felt so hollow. But when he was with you…he was happier. I hope that you can help him. If anyone can, it’s you.”

Eckona looked away, at the floor. “….I….I don’t know if….”

“He knew he was losing himself. He wanted someone to save him.” Minaeve looked aside. “I…I was the one who told him to go to you. To convince you to come by pretending to need your help. But I knew he _did_ need it. And he _wanted_ it. And that you might be the only one who would still come for him.”

“I hope so…I mean. I don’t know that we’ll ever be that again but…even if we’re not…I hope I can help, at least. He’s lost so much.”

“So have you.”

Eckona sighed. “Well, I’ll ask the others if anyone wants to come to the Deep Roads. Prepare for maybe five or so. I can’t imagine everyone will want to come—not after this whole disaster. Hell, none of them might want to. Which is fine. I’ll go by myself if that’s the case.”

Minaeve didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll send a letter back and tell Lady Josephine that we’ll have you on your way within a week.”

“Thank you, Minaeve.”

“By your leave, Inquisitor.” Minaeve inclined her head and turned to go.

Eckona watched her until she was out of sight and then she sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall. She wanted nothing more than to just go back to bed. Just go to sleep and ignore everything. And the Deep Roads. Seriously. It was going to be so dark down there. She stood up and headed to the observatory. There was still a lot of glass to clean up. The elves in the city were afraid to approach the keep and everyone here had been too exhausted. She worked on it to keep herself occupied when she started feeling trapped in her own head.

The massive observatory and study, an entire wing to itself, was down a few hallways from Solas’ actual chambers. Minaeve had procured the keys for her from somewhere. She had to admit, she was surprised by Minaeve’s role in getting Solas to allow her to find him. She was observant, Eckona knew but doing such a thing to Solas had taken courage. She was brave. If nothing else, Eckona would make sure Minaeve was looked after and could study to her heart’s content for the rest of her life.

Eckona grabbed a broom from the foyer and headed down the wide hallway to where it opened into the glass room. She swept only a little before the tiredness sunk into her again. She seemed to get tired so much easier now. It made her scowl, putting aside the broom and sitting down cross-legged. 

If she was going to be leaving for the Deep Roads, she ought to get this taken care of. She’d watched Solas, Dorian and Vivienne channel their power to lift objects and move them, surely she could do the same. She rested her elbow on her knee, touching the cuff on her left arm and then taking a deep breath. Her magic whirled inside of her chest, flattened and spread across the floor like water. It made her aware, tingling and searching for the hundreds of shards of broken glass. Each one lit up like a firefly in her mind, charged and surrounded by magic. The shards lifted into the air. She opened her eyes to watch them, thousands of shards of crystal-clear glass, spinning slowly in the air. It was like when Dorian used his time magic. Each shard like a mirror, a window, the sunlight shooting rays of golden light. The rays redirected and cast as prisms, covering the observatory in rainbows of color. She somehow hadn’t expected that. It was incredibly beautiful. 

She smiled faintly and slowly stood up, careful not to disrupt her control. She had to concentrate hard to keep all the shards in the air. Good exercise, she supposed, slowly turning them in all different directions, watching the colors and shafts of light reflect and bounce and shimmer around the room. 

She invoked her left arm, the golden spirit limb sparked a little. It felt different now that the Veil had changed but it still worked, thankfully. She used both hands to scoop deep around her, pulling the essence of the Fade closer, binding it around her in little strings to all the shards. And then twisting. 

The shards trembled and then whisked over to the window frames, slotting and sliding into each other, attempting to find their spots. It was difficult to control them all like this. Like she was in the middle of a room with people screaming in her ears. But finally, the pieces found their homes. The glass walls recreated and she slowly eased off, letting go of it.

The walls held. And then trembled. And then burst apart again.

Eckona jumped back, shielding her face with her arm. A few struck it—and then a wave slid over her, invisible air vibrating around her. It was a barrier, a magical one. She looked around and stopped, surrounded by a circle of shattered glass. 

Solas was leaning on the door frame, watching her. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “I—I am sorry for interrupting. Ah…the glass though…”

“Yes. Thank you,” she said. “I…was never able to manifest my magic until I started learning from you about three and a half years ago. I still…lack control sometimes.”

“Fixing a window is different from building a bridge,” he said, walking over to her, stepping carefully over the glass.

Some part of her couldn’t help but watch his toes—apparently she could never _not_ worry about them.

“Glass must be heated in order to bind together. Magic alone is not enough to hold it—because there are so many pieces. Each crack is a weakness.” He gestured down to the shards all around them. And then he hesitated before looking at her again. “You…were struck,” he said quietly, nodding to her arm. “Are you all right?”

She looked down at her right arm and reached up to pull the glass out of her sleeve. Some of them were bloody. “It’s all right. Better my arm than my face.”

“I could help you fix the windows….if you like,” he offered, not quite looking at her again.

“I would appreciate that, Solas,” she said quietly, also not quite looking at him.

For a moment, only the wind made a sound as it pushed and breezed through the room.

“I—about earlier,” Solas began. “I…I apologize for my hostility. You and your friends have done everything they could to help me and I was…” He shook his head to himself. “I am shamed. By my poor manners. I apologize. I will enter the Fade, try to find more of who I was so that I might learn from his mistakes.”

Eckona remembered to breath. “I am sorry it came up like it did. I spoke to Sera and told her not to antagonize you. But…she made a valid point—Solas, you…if you start down that path again…it could ruin you…”

“Before…did Sera and I argue often?”

She smiled a little. “Yes. You always wanted to see her reach her potential, I think. You meant well—at least, I think you did—but she….she can be difficult. And she’s extremely stubborn. At first, I thought you two were complete opposites—but you’re really two sides of the same coin.”

“It is often a thin line.”

“Yes,” she agreed, brushing her palms on her tunic. “If you would like, Solas…when you go into the Fade—I would come with you.”

“Why?” He looked thoughtful and curious.

“To…” she looked down. “….to help you. To—to provide context where it’s needed. You shouldn’t be alone when you see some of those things.” She felt his uncertainty and a twinge of unease at her words. 

“I will consider it,” he said finally. “Thank you—ah, and now—I will help you fix these windows. This is a beautiful room. I imagine moreso before it was destroyed.”

She nodded and invoked her spirit arm again. She felt him focus on it, curious about it. She scooped into the air again, raising thousands of shards above their heads. She let them spin a moment and glanced at him. He was looking at them much like she had, with a soft thoughtful look on his face that was so much like, well…Solas. She looked away again, focusing on getting the shards to remember where they lived.

“You know, lethallan, if you connect to the Fade, it will help the shards remember where they go.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated and then reached over and gently touched her right shoulder. “In the Fade, things simultaneously exist and don’t exist. The Fade will remember the window whole. Allowing the Fade to guide you will help you put the shards where they belong so that you do not wear yourself out by trying to focus on so many things at once.” He pressed very lightly with his magic, flaring blue and bright in her mind. She felt how effortless it was for him to slip across, like dipping his hand into a stream. The glow on the shards shifted from gold to blue and they began to arrange themselves. The strain eased off her mind almost entirely and she watched, fascinated. 

The windows rebuilt themselves.

“Now, lethallan—you have to feel every edge and heat them up enough so to bind them together. You must do it quickly, however, or the glass will simply collapse into itself.”

She looked at him and he gave her that soft, encouraging smile. It made her ache inside and she quickly looked back at the glass. He was holding it up with his magic, the familiar scent of metal and pepper expanding beside her. 

She closed her eyes, feeling for thousands of edges and she _pulsed_ out. Each edge burned bright and bursting in her mind—too much—and then she felt Solas nudge her back, gentling the power—and the glass bound together.

She released it and opened her eyes to a wall of solid glass. 

“Well done,” he said quietly. “It takes time to gain full control over so much. Most could not do something like that on a first try.”

“Ha,” she smiled, “you were always a good teacher.”

He looked at her. “….was I?”

She blinked. Oh. Right. “I—yes. You were." She looked at the floor, twisting her fingers together.

They stood there together quietly for a moment. He was still touching her shoulder, examining her face, as if trying to unearth something there. And then he pulled his hand away. “I—heard you speaking to Minaeve. She said you were going to the Deep Roads.”

“Oh. Um. Yes.”

“I would like to come with you.”

“It will be difficult down there—and there will likely be fighting, Solas. You shouldn’t—“

“If I am going to be here…then I should. I….have much to learn again, yes?”

She nodded uncertainly. “I….I suppose so.” And then she shifted on her feet. “Well, this observatory—this whole wing—was, er, _is_ yours. So—if anyone left anything in here—I’ll take care of it but feel free to—use this for yourself now.”

“Thank you, lethallan.”

She inclined her head to him and stepped back, rubbing her left stump and leaving the wing. She headed back to her own quarters, curling up on the bed to sleep again. She better catch up on it now, in any case. She doubted she’d sleep much in the Deep Roads. 

 

Solas went to his quarters as well. He even laid down to sleep. But he didn’t. He entered the Fade. It felt different now—the dwarves being able to dream had changed the landscape. But still—he felt more complete here. He felt less disoriented, felt less like he were constantly being scrutinized.

_Who is she?_

_Show me something. Show her to me._

 

 

 

The dress was dark red. 

It was stark against her white hair, like a swath of blood wrapped around her form. It had a silver sash and knee-length, black boots. The uniforms the others were crammed into were rather dull and not very flattering. They might all have to dress the same but, Josephine told her, she must stand out. The ambassador knew what she was doing, Eckona supposed and let Josephine wrap her up in silk and satin. It was rough against her calloused hands.

“Josephine…I….it’s just so….”

“It is loud and busy. It demands attention,” Josephine told her. “And to think I was going to just have you wear one of the red uniforms. What a waste. You are the elven Inquisitor—it must appear to others that you have our total support and respect—especially in front of the court. They will judge you because you are elven. It isn’t fair—but we can work around it.” Josephine pulled out a wheel of golden lace, holding it up against a sheath of red satin.

“But what if we’re attacked?”

“They would be very bold to physically attack us at the Winter Palace.”

“Josephine.”

The ambassador sighed. “I can have them put a small sheath at the thigh under the skirt—but you should not appear to need to be armed, Inquisitor. No one would dare attack you.”

“Seems like whenever someone says that—it means it will definitely happen.”

“This is different from regular combat, Lady Eckona. This will be about words, not arms.” Josephine held up a line of silver silk. “I know the gold is flashier—but the silver is just so _right_ with your hair and eyes. Maybe a darker red though?”

Eckona fidgeted. “Um. All right?”

“I like you better in green, honestly,” Josephine said, “But—everyone is going in red and gold. So you must match and also stand out. Red and silver it is. With a sash, I think and an overskirt.” She handed the wheel of silver lace to the seamstress taking notes next to her. “Silver lace on all the hems and covering the cuffs. Change out all the buttons—silverite instead of obsidian. Men at court are vultures—let them be drawn in by your face and then trap them with words.”

Eckona grimaced. “Er…Ambassador. I…am not sure I know how to do that.”

“You won’t need to,” Josephine said, eyes burrowing into the cloth like she wasn’t really seeing it. “You are not what many would say to be traditionally beautiful. The markings on your face will throw them off. But they won’t be able to help but be fascinated by you. It’s about walking the line between commanding their respect and letting them eat out of your hand. I believe you can do it. I’m simply giving you the armor to do so.”

“A satin dress is armor?”

Josephine smiled gently. “My lady, it may not have grooves and gauntlets but when others turn their noses at us in our skirts and make-up, they do not realize that that is just another form of armor for us. You don’t want blood on your dress, you don’t want to smear your lipstick—so you finish fights decisively, quickly—like a flower that hides a bee. A woman can’t cry with make-up on or it smears in ghastly ways. So you don’t cry. You show no weakness.”

Eckona stared at her, looking dumbfounded. “Wow….I never….I never thought of it that way before.”

“Frilly dresses and make-up have their place for any woman, if they know how to use them. It’s just another tool. Sadly, it often goes unrealized as women unconsciously accept it as a weakness. But it isn’t. It’s simply a tool. The right tool, Inquisitor, for the right job.”

Eckona’s mouth had fallen open a little. “Josephine….you. You. Are a genius. You might be the smartest person in the world.”

Josephine laughed in the delightful way of hers. “Then how about you let me pin bells in your hair?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

The seamstresses worked like mad things to finish the dress. They’d arrived at the Winter Palace two days before the Ball would commence. The Bold Horse, a large manor outside the palace, had been given over for their use. Josephine took quick command of a small army of seamstresses and tailors for last-minute fittings and had abruptly decided that the Inquisitor should have a gown instead. 

Eckona had put her foot down on the length, at least. She must not be tripping over it and no bells. 

Josephine was delighted to design the rest, in any case. Dark red satin and velvet that buttoned up the front to her collar, which had a tongue of silver lace gathered there. The dress gathered at her hips, sweeping down like a waistcoat to her calves. The underskirt was a brighter red and hit just below her knees, an edging of silver lace and a layer of dark silver silk peeking out from under the hem. Josephine took her hair out of its customary silver braid and had it pinned in an elegant knot. The ambassador dusted her eyes in silver and traced the lines of her _vallaslin_ with silver paint. 

“I feel ridiculous,” she admitted, unable to look at herself in the mirror. “I would think the nobles wouldn’t want to be reminded that I’m an elf.”

Josephine just laughed. “The Orlesians are fond of masks. We will make them see your markings like a mask. Drawing attention to them, rather than attempting to hide them, will show them you are not afraid. It's just another piece of your armor, my lady. Wear it like armor and it can't be used against you.”

“I’m not afraid—I just—can’t I just tell them?”

“No. Everything is subtle at court, Lady Lavellan. It seems very silly and tedious sometimes but you will thank me afterwards. They will judge you because you are elven. We cannot stop that. But we can use it to our advantage. You are graceful, slender and strong. You have a unique look to you. We will make the women wish they _were_ you and the men _want_ you. They will hate to admit it to themselves because you are an elf—but they won’t be able to help it.” She tittered in the mirror. “Also, you are definitely afraid. Even I can tell that. They’ll smell fear a mile away.”

Eckona blinked at her.

“You’ve never been anywhere like this. You’re right to be afraid. Until you experience it, you can’t truly know how trying it can be. You must be on your toes the whole time. It will be exhausting.”

The Inquisitor sighed.

“Don’t worry. We are here to help. If you have any difficulties—come to me or Leliana or Madame Vivienne.”

“What about Cullen?” She asked with a small smile, like she could already guess the answer.

“No. Cullen hates the Game. He will likely tell you to simply throw a few punches.” Josephine saw the look on her face and raised her eyebrows. “Which you must _not_ do.” 

The door opened and Vivienne came in, as always, magnificent and beautiful. “Oh, Josephine, darling. You are a miracle-worker. How lovely.” The dark woman came up to Eckona and touch her cheek, moving her chin in her fingers. “Yes, you will be disarmingly lovely and then you will go for the throat, my dear.”

“I will?” Eckona asked, cringing.

“Yes,” Vivienne tittered. “I had my doubts but Josephine, you truly show your magnificent skill. I wondered what you would do about her markings. The silver is a beautiful touch. It makes her eyes look bigger and greener.” Vivienne pulled a hand down Eckona’s waist. “Yes, the silver accents, the lace—and the dark red is alluring and mysterious without being provocative. Oh Josephine, my darling, you are a wonder.”

“I thank you, Madame Vivienne.”

“You deserve better than this when all this is over. Do stay in touch afterwards, my dear. Val Royeaux could use someone as clever as you. I was afraid this might be too much for an uneducated elf—but you’ve made her look like a diamond in the rough. Take my word for it, Inquisitor.” Vivienne looked absolutely delighted. “I’m so glad you aren’t making her wear these dull uniforms. In any case—the others are ready. We await only the Inquisitor.”

Eckona took a deep breath, trying to still the sudden quake of nerves in her chest. Her hands twisted together. “What will the others say?”

“If they say you are anything but striking, then they’ll show how little they know, my darling,” Vivienne said, almost gently. Almost…kindly. The enchanter tittered again behind her hand. “She is so sweet, isn’t she, Josephine? She doesn’t think she’s lovely at all. And not accustomed to being in the spotlight.”

“The court will eat it up, Madame Vivienne.”

“They will,” said Vivienne, blue eyes going sly and calculating. “Use it against them, Inquisitor. Or they will toss you aside like the other elves they meet. Remember, you are not a servant. You are the Inquisitor. There should be no doubt in their minds when this is over that _you_ are to be obeyed and respected.”

Eckona looked uncertainly at Josephine as Vivienne turned to stride out. “Obey?”

Josephine just smiled and shrugged. “The Game begins, my lady. Let us go.”

Josephine led her down a long hallway and a set of stairs where the others were waiting. She felt her shoulders curl in unconsciously, afraid to look up and see them laughing at her. 

“Wow, they really dolled you up for this, huh?” Sera said, eyes twinkling. “Are they planning to sell you afterwards?”

Eckona shot her a dark look. 

“What if there is fighting?” Cassandra asked. “She would be better off in trousers.”

“Don’t listen to any of them, my dear,” Dorian said flippantly. “Your dress is short enough that you won’t trip on it—you look absolutely stunning.”

Eckona looked up a little under her hair at him. “….really?”

“Yes. And if anyone tells you otherwise or calls you a knife-ear—we’ll kill them. We’re good at that.”

That made her smile. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“Better manners than any of these plebeians,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at Sera and Cassandra. “We’re all nervous, you know. Don’t even worry. It’s likely to be a very dull party. Save a dance for me, would you?”

That made her laugh. “Of course, Dorian.”

“See,” Dorian said to the others. “That’s how you talk to your friends. Try it some time.”

“I’ll remember that,” Iron Bull replied.

Outside, the night was bright with stars. The moon was hanging, full and pale in the sky and the air was thick with anticipation. Solas was waiting by the carriages. He smiled when she approached. “I am to be your serving man, they tell me.” There was a chuckle in his voice.

“Are you sure you can pretend to be a servant? That doesn’t really seem your style.”

He offered his hand to help her up. “Perhaps with the right motivation.”

She took it, seeming a little shy and he helped her into the carriage. He climbed in after her.

“I….feel silly,” she told him, twisting her hands together self-consciously.

“You don’t look silly,” he said with such solemn honesty that she looked grateful. He reached up to touch her face.

“Oh—careful—I guess that’s a silver paint.”

“It will smear?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He smirked, eyes darkening. “I shall have to be careful then.” 

 

 

 

In the Fade, Solas watched it play out around him. He could feel the intensity of the emotion, the heat in his eyes. Er…well…his own eyes. Solas’ eyes. That Solas. It was a bit difficult to reconcile this Solas with himself. The spirits who came to him, drawn to his presence, his comfort in the Fade, whisked around him. 

“I know memory is not perfect,” he told them. “but I thank you dearly for your help.”

“You do not remember?” one of them asked, half-materializing into a humanoid form. 

“I do not.”

“One of us followed her all the way out of the Fade when the sky collapsed. Many of us went through and found other forms, other shapes, other ways of being. They are still there in their new shapes. Could they return if they wished?”

“Yes, they can. If they so wish,” Solas told them.

“Thank you. We can show you other things.”

Solas bowed to them. “I would be humbled by such a gift.”

The spirits felt pleased at his politeness. They felt it in him, the wanderer, the humble traveler, the scholar. The Fade opened wide to one such as him and he was well-known to them. To many spirits. That he didn’t remember puzzled them. They could surely help him.

“This way,” said one. “There is much to see.”


	3. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Past Lavellan (it got a little romantic up in here--whoops.)  
> \----
> 
> “You are never as tall as when you stand up for yourself, da’len.”
> 
> \----  
> Most complete elven dictionary based on reconstruction of words/songs/phrases from the game that I've found. Go show him/her some love: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548  
> \-----  
> There is an actual phobia for folks who have a deeper, less rational terror of the dark. Nyctophobia. Likely from the Greek goddess of the night, 'Nyx'.

Solas tilted his head back and forth and Eckona could see from the look on his face that he was trying to find words for something. She lifted her eyebrows at him curiously. He coughed into his fist. “It’s easy for you to see through me, I suppose,” he said.

“Only in that outfit,” she said, smiling gently. 

He chuckled. “Red is not normally my color,” he gestured to the uniform. “I’ll be glad to be out of it. Walk with me, _vhenan_?” He held out an arm to her.

“Of course.” She smiled as she took it. They left the carriages, where the others were piling out to go to bed (Cassandra) or eat (Sera, Iron Bull) or smoke some hash (Varric, Dorian). Her red dress hid most of the blood stains. She _knew_ it wouldn’t go right. At least there had been plenty of assholes to steal weapons from. And excellent wine. The allure of the Winter Palace was definitely gone.

They walked behind the Bold Horse manor. There were extensive gardens behind it, full of rose bushes of various kinds. The scent of it was thick and heavy in the cool night air. There was also a hedge maze and water fountains. It was exquisite and peaceful. A fine mist was just beginning to descend on the gardens, dampening the sound. 

“Is there something else?” Eckona finally broke the silence, looking up at him.

He still had that look on his face, like he was trying to find the words for something. He stopped walking beside a high wall, coated in roses. They were red, like the blood on her dress. He took her hands gently. 

She felt his unease and she gripped his fingers, searching his face. “Solas, what’s wrong?”

He looked at her uncertainly, something bare and vulnerable in his gaze. “I….I only wondered, ah….you danced tonight in the ballroom with Dorian.”

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. She blinked at him. “Oh. Well. Yes. I did. Iron Bull asked me to dance too. I think they knew how self-conscious I was. It was kind of them.”

“Yes…” he cleared his throat. “I only…you sometimes seem….rather….fond. Of Dorian. I only wondered if…if you two were…”

Her eyes went wide, suddenly realizing what he was asking. “Oh—Solas. Solas, no. He.” She laughed into her hand. “No—it’s not like that. Dorian is…well. He. He likes men, Solas.”

Solas stared at her blankly for a moment. “Oh?” he said. And then, “ _Oh!_ I. I see. I did not know.”

She beamed at him. “Solas, were you _jealous_?”

He looked away awkwardly, fighting a smile. “I—simply—I only—“

She reached up, touching the side of his face. Her smile gentled, pulling him down to her. She kissed him. Her other hand went to his jacket, curling her fingers into it. When they broke apart she smiled, warm and soft. “There’s only you, Solas.”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her into him, finding her mouth again. “Most of the silver paint came off during the fighting,” he said quietly. “Still, the silver of the moon almost makes up for it.”

“Are you saying I’m like the moon? Does that make you the sun?”

Their foreheads touched. “Would that please you? Or is that too romantic?”

She laughed quietly. “Sometimes a _little_ romance isn’t bad.”

It thickened between them, warm and secret. His hands went into her hair, gently unbinding it from the elegant knot. He combed his fingers through the silver strands. “Eckona…” he began and then faltered, looking into her face. He seemed right on the verge of telling her something and then he leaned in and kissed her instead, pulling her into him, spinning her around to brace her back against the hedge wall. His hands went to the lace at her throat, pulling it away so he could uncouple the silverite buttons. She arched into him when he found a breast, tweaking the nipple with his fingers. And then his hands spirited down to her hips, gathering the fabric and lifting her up against the wall. His hands slid up her thigh and then he stopped and laughed. “Do I feel a dagger strapped to your thigh?”

She laughed. “I didn’t want to be completely unarmed. I had to fight Josephine to let me have it.” 

She felt his long fingers curl around the strap. “I like it,” he told her. His eyes darkened. 

Her breath shuddered out of her and her fingers went to his collar, opening the uniform and sliding her hands over his chest. He put her down, both of them grabbing onto his belt and laughing a little when their fingers tripped over each other. He let her unhook it, let her slide her fingers around him—and then he grabbed her, fighting her smallclothes out of the way. He lifted her up again, bracing her back against the wall. When he pressed inside of her, her eyes closed, head tilting back against the garden wall as she shuddered around him. Her grip tightened into his shoulders. Her face framed by her silver hair and roses as he leaned into her throat, thrusting up into her. She writhed in his grip. He kissed her breastbone, right under her collar, as he shifted inside of her. Her eyes opened again, shoulders curling in so she could stare down at him, mouth meeting his in a rush of gasped air. 

“Solas…” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

He moved faster, harder, swelling inside of her. She trembled, tight around him. So _tight_. Still, they were nearly silent. She buried her breaths in his shoulder and when she came apart, her whole body tensed, wrapping around him, clenching down around him. A small, rough groan escaped his throat and he leaned against the wall, bracing his shoulder against it as he burned inside of her. She fussed wordlessly, shaking around him. He put his hand in her hair, combing his fingers through it soothingly. 

Still, it took both of them several minutes to extract themselves and fix their clothes. She seemed shy again. She kept touching his jacket sleeves until he put an arm around her to walk her back to the manor. 

 

Eckona watched it all from the Fade. Her memories shaping the Fade around her. She probably shouldn’t using the Fade to revisit happier moments. After all, the next morning, she’d woken up to reality and everything became angry and sad for a while, until she spoke to Cole about it. He’d settled her nerves, she remembered. He’d eased her mind, somehow, in that odd way of his. But she had changed after the Winter Palace. Suddenly, there wasn’t much place for hesitation. Some of her timidness had been drug out of her. So many people trying to kill her and her friends and no words would sway them from it. She had to take action, she _must_. This wasn’t like being with the clan—where everything she did had to be scrutinized by Anock. She wasn’t chained to her brother any longer. 

That had been the real start of the shift. The Winter Palace was where all this madness became very, very real. Corypheus trying to kill them was one thing—but the nobility was a separate monster entirely. It made no sense—they were _all_ in danger but the nobles still found it preferable to squabble and bicker. And they would see to their own shit before they thought about the rest of the world. It was a harsh reality check. Up to that point, Eckona had thought that they would _surely_ see reason. Surely they wouldn’t let the world hang in balance for their petty bickering. How wrong she’d been.

 

But all that was in the past now, a few years in the past. Only Anock could likely tell her how much she had truly changed since she’d left for the Conclave but they had never discussed it. It was still a little too raw a topic for them to breach.

She got up to bathe and dress and headed down to the library. Dorian was there, surrounded by books and parchment. She waved to him and sat down.

He sighed at all the paper and looked at her, seeming regretful. “I wish I could go with you.”

“Me too,” she said and sighed. “You tell the best jokes and you always know where to get the best hash.”

He grinned. “I prepared a bag of it for you to take.”

“You are seriously the best.” 

He touched his crutch. “I thought about just trying to come anyway but…it seems I won’t be doing much adventuring until my legs fully heal.”

“I’d rather you heal than fall down a mining shaft,” she agreed. “Still—I’ll bring you back a souvenir. A nice rock or something.”

He laughed. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, looking sadly at his crutch. “You…you of all people—you shouldn’t be bound to hobbling around the rest of your life. Elgar’nan crushed your legs but not your spine. And it was…you…I mean—you were helping me and I—“

Dorian laughed. “Don’t be so dreary, Eckona. I’m sure if there is a magic to repair the damage, I’ll find it. I’ll be looking into it while I’m here. I can’t even ride a horse—I would only slow you down in the Deep Roads. And I imagine you want to be in and out of there as soon as you can.”

Eckona sighed softly. “I’ve gone this long avoiding the Deep Roads—I suppose it had to happen sometime. I’ll take Varric with me. I’ll have someone to commiserate with then.”

Dorian chuckled. “Well, here. I’ve been working on something.” He pushed a large coin across the table to her. “This might help.”

She picked it up. It wasn’t a coin but some kind of medallion. She furrowed her eyebrows, studying the magic.

“It will allow you to communicate with us over long distances. Much faster than a bird. You’ll have to keep it charged with magic, or the spell will fade. Try to get it every full moon. It’ll be a good experiment. I have the other so if some _other_ disaster happens—maybe we won’t end up crushed.”

She smiled. “Thank you Dorian. You are amazing.”

“Ah, well, I know. But it’s still good to hear it.”

She laughed.

Today was the day that they planned to leave for the Deep Roads. She would travel by horse to the southeast to Serault. There, they would lay in supplies and charter a ship to take them across Orlais to Val Royeaux. Then it was just a crossing of the Waking Sea and into Fereldan. It would cut travel time by a month, at least, providing the weather stayed with them and their ship stayed in one piece. Once they reached the city of Jader, they could get horses and continue to Orzammar.

It was sad, in a way, to have to leave the peninsula so soon. It had been just a bare few weeks since Ghilan’nain had died. The Chantry had taken control of Halamshiral to try and restore order. Now that Empress Celene and Gaspard were dead, the nobility were scrambling to stop the power vacuum that would turn Halamshiral and Val Royeaux to further mayhem. Anock had discovered Briala hidden away under the keep. It wouldn’t be safe for her to travel, currently, so she was confined to the city until the chaos could be brought to heel. 

That left something else that had been brought to Eckona’s attention. The city needed a name. The whole peninsula was waiting to be named. She’d deliberated for a long time, pouring over a rudimentary elven dictionary she was putting together for inspiration. She eventually selected _Athleanan_ , the place of twilight.

So now they were off. Varric, Sera, Cassandra, Solas, Iron Bull, Cole and Liesel. Vivienne was still with Leliana, Uleran, Bryndis and Mihris. Rainier was now with Josephine in Antiva City. Dorian was going to stay in Athleanan with the Chargers to keep an eye on things with Anock and Minaeve. Cullen also stayed to assist. And Tam stayed with him—she still wasn’t quite at peace with being made Tranquil by Elgar’nan and then being woken up again by Liesel. It would be better for her to stay for now. Arlath requested to go with them though. Eckona was glad to have the warrior at their side again. 

 

The ride to Serault was uneventful. Uneventful meaning that the roads were completely empty. The countryside was empty. When they reached Serault, they found the port barely manned. Half of the city had been lost in the chaos after the Veil fell. They were struggling to recover. A smith begged them to take a small bag of letters to Val Royeaux and then they were on their way in one of the few remaining tradeships. The deck was wide enough that Eckona could practice with Cole. Liesel had clearly never been on a ship before. 

She gazed at the rigging in wonder. “It sings sweet songs. Everything it has ever heard,” she said. “Sadness, sullen, suffering, down into the deep-dark and the cold.”

“Oh. Shit.” Iron Bull said softly, chuckling softly to himself. “Another one.”

“You speak of the wind?” Solas asked her.

“Yes,” she said, absently, looking at him through her mat of heavy hair. “It knows so much because it sees so.”

“The Veil changed it,” Cole added.

“Green lights, flickering in shadows. In liquid. Gravel between teeth. Biting and chewing to get inside.”

“I wish it could still be that way sometimes,” Cole told her. “I miss the quiet.”

Liesel didn’t look away from the rigging. She touched Cole’s sleeve. “But not too quiet.” She let go, turning her head to Eckona, who was standing and waiting for Cole so they could continue. “She’s waiting for you.”

Cole looked at Eckona and back. “No, not for me.”

“Piss, I thought _one_ was hard to understand,” Sera said sourly, sitting on a stack of crates. “Why do we have two now? We don’t need another one. Ecks and Creepy have us covered when it comes to stabbers.”

That pulled Liesel’s attention away from Eckona, over to Sera. She peered at her. “A flicker of sunlight, golden hair and kind eyes. Dark and shadowy at first but. Kind then. Showing. Kindness in a cry. A calling, caring, cookies and friendship. Family. Brother. Gone now—he’ll leave me behind. I hate him. I hate all of them. Especially _her_.” Liesel’s head tilted to the side. “Sera—you don’t have to worry. I won’t take Cole away.”

Sera stiffened and scowled. “Shut up!”

“I won’t take any of them away. You all. Have been together for so long. You’re family, Sera. I’m not.” She smiled gently. “But I will protect you because you are Cole’s family. And. You hurt so much inside.”

“Shut! UP!” Sera commanded.

Liesel looked at her another moment and then turned away, eyes gazing over the wide river instead. 

Cole went to Sera and crouched beside her until the elf looked at him. He patted her on the head.

Cassandra walked over to the other spirit. “Liesel—can we not….your hair will get in the way when you fight. You should pull it back or let us cut it for you.”

Liesel looked up at her. “Oh. All right.”

“Which?”

“Which do I do?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just pick one.”

She looked confused by that, like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Why does it matter?”

“You won’t be able to see under your hair. You should get it out of your face.”

Liesel absently pushed at it, wiping the strands of thick hair away from her eyes. “Do you have to have your eyes uncovered to see?”

“What?” Cassandra asked. “Don’t you?”

Liesel hesitated and looked at her hands, contemplating.

“Liesel, how about you just let us braid it,” Eckona said, going to her pack and searching it to find a comb. Cole appeared in front of her and held out his hand. Eckona looked at him and then handed him the implement. 

Cole walked over to Liesel. “Sera and Eckona taught me how to touch hair so it didn’t hurt.” Liesel sat on a crate, trying to look back curiously as he raised his long fingers and gently worked the comb through her hair. 

Iron Bull looked amused at the display. He mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “They grow up so fast.”

 

 

 

She sat on deck with Cassandra that night. The warrior had volunteered to take first watch and allow their crew to sleep. Eckona sat beside her and opened her satchel to pull out some tobacco and a long-stemmed pipe. She offered some to Cassandra, who shook her head. 

“Are you all right?” Eckona asked her.

Cassandra looked out over the water. “Many things have changed. I don’t know that letting Solas live was the best thing—for him or for you.”

“You’ll have to take that one up with Ghilan’nain,” she replied, biting on the stem of the pipe.

“I would, had she remained. Solas still has incredible power—that he seems unaware of it is neither comfort nor is it a guarantee that he will not go down the same path again.”

Eckona put the heels of her boots on her chair so she could hug her knees and still hold her pipe. “I know.”

“He must be watched,” Cassandra said firmly.

The elf took a deep breath. “Yes. He should be.”

“I do not think you are in the position to do so.”

Eckona looked sidelong at her and nodded. “You're probably right. I’m not sure I can prepare myself to kill him _again_.”

“I have already spoken to Arlath and Iron Bull—Iron Bull also suspected Solas but he never spoke to anyone about it because he couldn’t prove anything. But we will watch him closely this time. If he shows that he cannot be redeemed, then we will kill him.” Cassandra looked at her, almost sternly. “I know that your judgment is compromised when it comes to him. You are as a horse with blinders on. I cannot guarantee that I will confer with you first, should that come to be necessary.”

Eckona sighed and rested her forehead on her knees. “I understand,” she said softly and hugged her knees tightly. 

“In a way, I wish he had died so that you could move on but—he lived and we will deal with it and take precautions this time. Hopefully, he will not go down the same path as before.”

“He can’t,” she said, glaring at her knees. “I won’t let him.” She invoked her spirit hand, clenching it into a golden fist. “He took too much from us the first time.”

Cassandra nodded, looking approving. “When I came through the Eluvian and I saw you on the ground, I was sure he had killed you. I was sure he was beyond all reason if he had done so. We could all see it—he _did_ love you. And if he had killed you, then he would truly be beyond redemption. But he cut off your arm instead, to save you. And perhaps, to give you another opportunity to stop him. There's no other explanation--he knew how dangerous you had become. By all logic, you presented the most dangerous enemy to him. You knew nearly as much about him as he knew about you. There was no way of knowing how this Orb's power and the Fade would effect your magic--even after he removed the Anchor. So he was either so arrogant that he assumed you could never present a threat to him--after seeing you do impossible things several times--or he let the one most dangerous to him live because he wanted you to stop him. And you did."

"With help," Eckona tacked on. "A lot of it. And really good timing."

"But now we don’t know what to do with him. But that he wanted to come with us is encouraging.” Something in Cassandra’s face gentled. “There…there might still be something there. Perhaps, it can be salvaged.”

Eckona blew a wisp of blue smoke into the night air. “We’ll see.”

 

 

 

Jader was in shambles, much like Serault, but they were still able to buy horses. It was a week’s ride to Orzammar. There, a contact of Josephine’s met them and showed them the lift they had constructed to take them down into the earth.

Varric grimaced. “Have I mentioned that I hate the Deep Roads?”

“Multiple times,” Iron Bull said.

"On several occasions," said Cole.

“In several different companies,” Sera added.

“In several places,” Cassandra said.

“Look I’m below eye-level for you all. If I don’t complain, you’ll forget I’m here.”

Eckona clapped Varric on the shoulder. “I’m with you Varric. Too closed in. We can commiserate together, all right?”

Liesel went to the edge and looked down. “Is it the whispering that scares you, Varric?”

“Naw, Princess, it’s just….” Varric shifted, touching his crossbow. “It’s…ugh, I dunno. I just don’t like the Deep Roads. They’re too….deep.”

Cassandra and Eckona had trimmed Liesel’s hair after Cole combed it and they fixed it for her in several braids before binding all the tails together with a strap of leather. “They’re crawling around down there.”

“Okay, Princess, that doesn’t really help.”

Eckona took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s hit it.” She stepped out onto the lift and waited for the others before pulling the lever. Her hands gripped tightly into the railing, peering down into their descent. Into the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

Master Orla, the lead warrior of clan Lavellan, stomped up to the pool. “Get out, Eckona.”

She was scrubbing at her silver hair and looked under it at Orla. 

“Hurry up, rinse your hair.”

Eckona dunked her head under water, feeling the pit of dread in her stomach turn hard and cold. She pulled her head out and hurried to the shore. “Is something wrong?”

“Get dressed,” Orla commanded. “Your brother wants to see you.”

She managed to suppress the instinctive reaction of fear, pulling her shirt on over her tattooed back and shoving on her trousers. “I didn’t do anything,” she managed, voice choked.

“That’s not for me to decide.” 

She was pulling on her boots when Orla grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her up from the ground. “Hurry up. Come on.” She pushed the girl ahead of her. 

Eckona staggered, hurried to right herself and kept out of Orla’s reach as the warrior escorted her back to the camp. She tried to veer off path to go to her brother's aravel but Orla grabbed her. “No. To the Keeper’s tent. Now.”

Eckona felt her whole chest flutter in fear. 

The Keeper’s aravel was parked next to a large weeping willow tree. Beside it, a blue tent had been constructed. Orla pushed her through the flap serving as the door to the tent.

Keeper Istimaethoriel was sitting at a chair, writing. She looked up when Orla and Eckona entered. “Eckona, here we are again.”

Eckona breathed in through her nose, trying to keep herself from panicking. “What have I done now?” She choked out, trying to sound defiant.

Orla grabbed painfully hard into her shoulder. “You don’t speak to your Keeper like that.”

“Anock has heard that you ventured into one of the _shem_ villages.”

Eckona risked a glance to her left. Anock was sitting at the other corner of the tent. His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes certainly did. She swallowed hard. “Many go to the _shem_ villages. I am not the only one.”

“Yes—but you’re the only one who’s bound to my First,” said Istimaethoriel. “And you did not ask before leaving.”

Eckona felt sick. “I—I was only going to trade. I found—I found pretty stones and pebbles and bundles of Spindleweed. I thought I could trade them—“

“For what?” Anock asked. “What would you do with money?”

“I…I just…”

“Because you certainly didn’t seem interested in helping our clan.”

“I was only looking to—just—to see the village and see if I could trade for a little coin. I thought maybe I could…buy a horse or something.”

“A horse?” Orla asked from behind her.

“Why would you need a horse? We have aravels. We have halla. Why would you need a horse? Were you going to care for it?” Anock asked. “You don’t even know how to ride a horse.”

Eckona lowered her eyes, shoulders curling in on herself. 

“Were you going to try to leave?” Istimaethoriel asked, sweeping her black hair behind her ear.

“No!” she said swiftly. “I was just…I was…”

They stared at her. She felt their eyes drilling into her. The longer she was silent, the heavier and more oppressive their gazes became.

“Are we talking to a wall here?” Anock asked her, crossing his arms. 

“N-no,” she said faintly.

“You just don’t have an answer?”

She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to keep calm against the fear telling her to _run_.

“I suppose that’s an answer in and of itself,” Anock told her.

Istimaethoriel looked up, nodding once to Orla. The warrior nodded and left the tent. “Would you like to deal with her, Anock?”

“Yes. I would.” Her brother allowed the faintest flicker of a smile.

Istimaethoriel got up and left them.

Eckona took a rough breath to try and calm herself. “Anock—I wasn’t going to do anything. I just wanted to see the village. I—“

“Eckona. C’mon. I’m not stupid. I’m the Keeper’s First. They all listen to me.”

“Anock…”

“You shouldn’t have told Jeerin where you were going.”

_Jeerin. Oh, that dirty bastard. I’ll kill him._

Anock stood up. “So—this is like treason, right? The _shems_ go on and on about treason and such. You were planning to make money by trading things you had collected or stolen so that you could buy a horse and ride away. Ha, if you’re going to steal, you might as well have just stolen a horse. But—you’re not that smart. That’s why I’m the First and you’re not.”

They were fourteen and Anock was now taller than she was, bigger in the chest and arms. She took a step back from him and he grabbed her. “You have to learn. You are here to be my shadow, remember?” He walked out of the tent, dragging his sister by her hair. 

Anock wrestled her to his aravel, shoving her up against it. “But now they have to know. They need to know that you were going to run away.”

The rest of the clan had stopped working around the camp. They watched the First and his sister. Men and women staring at the two of them. No one stepped forward. They just stared. Silent.

“You disrespect the elven gods, you disrespect our clan and our Keeper.” He shoved her to the ground and snapped his fingers. 

Her hair burst into flame. She screamed in terror, shoving herself back from her hair like she could get away. Of course, she couldn’t. The back of her neck and her ears blistered but Anock flicked his fingers, holding her in place. The smell of singed cloth, flesh and burnt hair flooded her with panic but she could not move, tears streaming down her face. And just as suddenly, the fire stopped. 

He grabbed her by her burnt shirt and drug her over to the hatch of his aravel. It opened so that things might be stored underneath. Things like animal hides, weapons and goods. He shoved her inside and shut the hatch, turning the lock securely. 

She was shaking in the dark for two days. The cramped, black space stank of burnt hair, blistered flesh and piss. She trembled when she finally called out, “Anock--it's dark. It's dark. It's so dark. Please let me out!”

But he did not. It was another full day before she heard the scrape of metal on wood.

Eckona curled back from the hatch on her side, unable to sit up because of the low ceiling. She wanted to be out of grabbing distance, at least.

But it was not Anock who peered in at her.

It was a warrior. Arlath. 

He was a mountain of an elf. Large and broad-shouldered, he primarily fought with a massive two-handed axe. He was marked with Ghilan’nain’s symbol, for he was an adult about fifteen years her senior. He knelt down to look inside the hatch, watching her eyes tear up as they adjusted to the light. 

She cringed back from him. 

He held out his hand to her. 

She felt panic flooding into her chest again, bubbling out of her throat in a choked-back sob.

“Come, da’len,” he said softly, like he might to a scared animal.

She was shaking so badly that when she finally reached out to him, he used both hands to cup one of hers. He gently urged her out of the aravel. She blinked her eyes quickly to adjust. There were a few others around the camp, smoking meat or doing other chores. They looked at them but said nothing. They watched Arlath lead the First’s sister to his hart, a massive and bold beast. Arlath lifted her up and settled her on the hart’s back. He passed up his waterskin and told her to drink. Then he climbed up after her. 

He said nothing to any of the others. He touched the hart’s throat and they galloped away. Eckona wasn’t sure how far they rode but it was nearing dusk when he stopped his hart. She felt his large hands under her arms as he lifted her up easily and set her on the ground.

He followed and stood before her. She cowered back from him, making herself seem as small as possible. His grey eyes flickered a little and then he said, “Calm, da’len. I will not hurt you.”

She stared up at him, shaking like a leaf. “I didn’t do anything else. Please—I’ll be good. I’ll try harder. I’m sorry. I won’t run away.”

“I did not bring you here at your brother’s bidding,” Arlath said. “Or anyone else’s. I brought you here because what he does is wrong. He keeps you helpless, the others do not guide him. He is a child.” He went to his saddlebag and produced a hat and cloak. “Come here, da’len.”

She stared at him, confused, uncertain. When she did not step forward, he moved towards her. She tensed, shifting as if to spring back. Arlath held up the hat and cloak so she could see his hands and approached slowly. Gently, he placed the hat on her head. “Your hair will grow back,” he said. “But for now, wear this to protect your scalp.”

She reached up, gently touching the rim of the hat. 

“Near here, there is a small lake. Do you know how to find water in the forest?”

She hesitated. “Y-yes…”

“Go to the lake and clean yourself up. You were locked in the aravel for three days by the time I got back to the camp. I was out hunting.” He went back to his saddlebag and took out other garments. “These will be big on you but they are clean and sturdy.” He brought a bundle of hunter leathers to her. “Put these on and when you return, you will eat and then we will decide how to begin your training.”

“My….my training?”

“Uleran does nothing to teach you. He believes you a lost cause. But I do not believe that. Now, go, da’len, before night falls.”

She was stunned and it took her another moment before she could turn, hurrying away to go to the lake. While she cleaned herself and changed clothes, Arlath built a fire and erected a small tent. Inside of it was a bedroll. Another roll lay beside the fire. Arlath knelt on it, cooking a chunk of nug ham. 

She returned before night could fall completely. Stars were just beginning to wink at them from the sky. She hesitated at the edge of the camp Arlath had made. He simply waved her closer, holding out a small tin plate with meat on it. She didn’t know what kind it was. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She staggered forward and took it, stuttering out a soft thanks. She perched on a log across from him, eating far too quickly but unable to help it. Three days with no food or water had made her ravenous.

“Orla will never allow me to train you as a warrior,” Arlath said as the night deepened and shadows stretched over his face. “And, of course, the Keeper will never allow you to be a mage. I can give you a dagger but I am not adequate in a fight with them. However—I can teach you how to use a bow, da’len. You’ll be a ranger. Like rogues, they wear medium-grade, leather armor. I can teach you how to use a spear, as well, should we come across one. Whenever I go on the hunt, you will now accompany me and during these hunts, you will watch and learn.”

She nodded frantically, not certain if this was truly happening but wanting very much to believe so.

“Your brother was not born cruel—but he no longer listens to the council of his betters—because the Keeper, Uleran and Orla are weak and foolish.”

Her mouth fell open. She’d never heard someone disparage the Keeper before. 

“One day, I believe, Anock will come to realize what he’s done in his childish arrogance and regret it. But it won’t be for some time. Until then, I can give you the tools to protect yourself. Tomorrow at dawn, we must begin building your strength. Uleran believes you are unmanageable and so your training has been severely neglected. We will build your strength and then your skills.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “M-Master Arlath….”

“Speak, da’len. It’s all right.”

“Why…why are you doing this? The others—they will….be angry at you…”

Arlath looked at the fire a long moment before looking back at her. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

Eckona felt everything inside of her collapse and then well up. She tried to keep it back but tears were in her eyes before she could stop it. She frantically scrubbed at them.

“You are never as tall as when you stand up for yourself, da’len. I will give you that.”

 

 

When the lift touched the ground of the Deep Roads, Eckona could feel Arlath standing behind her. She wondered sometimes, what he thought of her now. But--there wasn't time for that. She touched her daggers as she strode out to meet the dwarves of the Deep Roads.


	4. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made up the lullaby, basing the tone and rhythm around this Russian lullaby--which advises children to beware sleeping close to the edges of their beds, lest a little wolf drag them off: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f8WYvAo-RA
> 
> \----------
> 
> Based my translation around this extensive dictionary: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548  
> \------------
> 
>  
> 
> “Why do tiny animals turn us all into dithering fools,” Cassandra grumbled.
> 
> “Babies do the same to most people,” Arlath told her.
> 
> “Which is unfair, really,” said Iron Bull. “Because if you give a baby to an adult animal, they usually just wanna eat it. But if _I_ wanna do that--it's wrong.”  
>  \-----------------------------

She was three hours into first watch. Eckona kept the fire burning high and hot. It made shadows flicker on the walls but it would drive away the larger parts of the dark. Still, the fire seemed incredibly small when she looked up. The Deep Roads were exactly what she expected. Deep. And very dark. The remains of the dwarven roads were swarmed by strange creatures, strange dwarves and strange humming from the stone. That was never a good sign. It seemed like when the stone starts singing, that’s when folks went crazy.

She would have little rest here. Mostly because of the darkness. No one really talked about it, thankfully. Though, granted, she’d never actually discussed it openly with any of them. Arlath was by her side a little more than usual—only because he’d seen her in the darkness. She’d always hidden it as much as she could because what they were doing—Corypheus, the Breach and all—was always more important than her petty fears. But here in the Deep Roads, it was impossible to get away from. She could only sit close to the fire with her back to a wall so at least she’d know nothing was behind her (but what about above? Or below?). Iron Bull was supposed to take over after her but she didn’t wake him. She was too restless to sleep as it was and his horns kept tapping against the rock when he breathed. It was, at least, a soothing rhythm. 

Liesel was still rather confused on whether or not she needed to sleep. Cole had told her he only had because he thought he must but it didn’t really seem to be necessary. The two of them had gone to do a little scouting ahead. So when she first heard the sound—she thought it might be them returning.

She stood up from the fire, circling around it and looking out over one of the half-destroyed bridges. She did see a door open and the two spirits exit, far below. Cole held up a torch as tiny as a bootlace knot and waved it. She waved back.

She heard the sound again. She tensed, turning in a quick circle like an Antivan dancer. She felt Cole hone in on her anxiety but pushed it away so she could listen harder. It sounded like a whimper. A faint cry. “What is that?” she asked aloud, softly, to break the silence. It was too oppressive.

A faint mewling sound—it didn’t sound like darkspawn, really. And none of the strange dwarves made a sound like that. She walked carefully to the edge of the destroyed bridge. “H-Hello?” she asked, faintly.

The sound again, behind her. She whirled around, right hand grabbing a dagger hilt. “Who’s there!” 

There was a rush of air and Cole appeared next to her, then Liesel. Neither spirit said anything, they just looked at her. 

“I hear something. A…I’m not sure—“

Another whimper, echoing around them. 

“Where is it coming from!?” She asked, more frantic than she intended. 

Solas awoke, sitting up by the fire. He got to his feet as the others stirred as well. “Is something wrong?”

“I can hear something.”

“It’s always so cramped,” Liesel said, rocking back and forth a little. “So cramped and dark. Everything smells dead. Even the spices smell dead. The leather is dead. The animals are dead. The stone is dead.” And then the spirit’s soft voice wavering and echoing in a singsong. “ _Da’len, da’len’s aravel, caught beneath the rocking swell, hear our voices as we cry, trapped beneath til darkness dies._ ” 

“Liesel!” Eckona snapped, more sharply than she intended. “Not that. Not now.”

“It’s over there,” Cole said, pointing into a pitch black corner.

Eckona walked away from the fire slowly. She heard the whimper again, a little louder. And then she saw a glint of shining eyes. She wrestled down the terror that wanted to cut her heart. It was irrational, she told herself, over and over again. It was irrational. The dark couldn’t hurt anyone. It just _was_.

“It’s a wolf pup,” Liesel said, she and Cole had followed her to the spot. Solas and Varric trailed a distance behind them curiously. 

Cole raised his torch higher and they saw that Liesel was correct. It was a pup. A small, dark thing, mewling pitifully.

“How did he get down here?” Eckona mused softly. She stepped forward and knelt down.

“Maybe he fell?” Varric suggested. “But I dunno how he would have survived that kind of fall.”

“He’s broken,” Liesel said. “We should help him.”

Eckona looked at her curiously and then back at the pup. She scooted closer but slowly—trying not to startle him. 

Liesel’s boots appeared in her peripheral vision. “We should help him. He has no pack. He’s sad.” The spirit drew one of her knives and reached for the pup.

“Whoa! No. No, Liesel!” Eckona grabbed for the pup and pulled him to her. “He’s not broken—he’s just…” She peered at him closer, looking at the wolf pup’s cloudy white eyes. “….he’s blind.”

“Kid, you should probably talk to Princess about not having to murder everything.”

“Liesel,” said Cole. “There are…other ways to help. We don’t always have to kill. Just sometimes. But not always.”

Liesel looked curious. “So….what should we do?”

“Let them decide.”

“All right,” she said softly, tilting her head. “Is he…not broken then?”

“He’s only blind,” said Cole. “He still hears things everywhere. Still smells. Still tastes. Still shadows.”

Eckona drew the pup to her breast, holding him with her right arm. It whimpered again. They walked back to the fire, where the others were sitting up now (except Sera, who snored softly next to Cassandra).

“Is that a wolf pup?” Cassandra asked, standing up.

“He’s blind—maybe he fell down here somehow.” Eckona went to her pack and searched through it until she found some dried beef. She poured some water in a little bowl and dipped her fingers in it, bringing them to the pup’s mouth. He whimpered again until his nose touched the dampness and then he was frantically licking the water off. “Thirsty little thing, isn’t he.”

“We do not have time to take him back to the surface, Eckona,” Cassandra told her. 

“There’s no reason to leave him down here, Cassandra.”

“And during battle?”

Eckona dipped her fingers in more water to let him lick it off. “At least with us he has a chance. He’ll die down here if we leave him. I’ll call him _Faolan_.” She smiled softly. “Do you like that, Faolan?”

“Can I hold him?” Cole asked.

Eckona stood up, gently handing the pup to the spirit. Cole cradled the pup in his long fingers and showed him to Liesel, telling her about his soft dark fur and his little wolfish puppy-thoughts. “He likes our smells,” he told her.

Liesel smiled and Cole showed her how to hold him. 

“All right, all right, pass him around. He’s the new mascot, I guess.” Varric held out his hands and Liesel passed the pup to him. “Hi, Faolan. I wonder if he was blind from birth—maybe he was abandoned.”

The pup went to Iron Bull next, who seemed to take great delight in the tiny thing, as much as he tried to hide it. He could cup its whole body in one huge palm. The pup licked him and nibbled his fingers. 

Cassandra held Faolan only briefly before passing him to Solas. She seemed uncertain about what to do with him.

Solas held the pup carefully, looking at his milky-white eyes. His fur was matted and dirty and there was a trail of blood on his left flank. Solas took the pup over to the fire and sat beside it. “The pup has some scrapes and a bite mark.” He gently laid healing magic over the flesh. The magic sparked oddly in the air. The elf peered at the puppy. “He’s been changed somehow—by this place. I wonder how he survived the fall. Perhaps some of the magic rubbed off on him.”

The pup made a soft yawn when the flesh healed, licking at Solas’ hand. 

“He smells her on you. Always lingering. Always a sheen of magic, sparkling blue like his eyes,” Cole said.

Solas glanced up at Cole but didn’t reply. He got up and offered him back to Eckona. “I have some more dried beef which we might soften in water for him. But we can’t get him milk down here.”

Eckona cradled Faolan to her as she made a broth from the dried beef. She fed it to him in little dips of her fingers, which he sucked on. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of him.” 

There was no way of knowing when morning was, as there was little in the way of natural light. Eckona focused on the puppy instead of the darkness, which seemed to help her concentration immensely. She made a soft little nest in her satchel at her chest from scraps of cloth and her cloak and put Faolan inside. She kept the flap open so he could poke his nose out and she could reach in to reassure him. 

Sera was curious about the pup when she woke and was delighted to hold him, nuzzling his little nose to hers. “I just wanna squeeze his little head off.”

“Why do tiny animals turn us all into dithering fools,” Cassandra grumbled.

“Babies do the same to most people,” Arlath told her.

“Which is unfair, really,” said Iron Bull. “Because if you give a baby to an adult animal, they usually just wanna eat it. But if _I_ wanna do that--it's wrong”

Varric snorted. “Uh, I’m not sure Cassandra knows what a baby is. The Seeker was brought into the world full grown, I’ve heard. You might have to explain that, Stonewall.”

Arlath fought a small smile at how she rolled her eyes.

 

 

Eckona reached into the satchel when they entered the tunnel. It was complete darkness. She couldn’t see her own feet when she looked down. The tremors started in her chest and spread all over, turning her hand ice cold. She heard the others comment on the darkness and tried to ignore it. Her throat was tight enough to choke her. But the elf touched the tiny wolf pup and how warm he was. She petted his tiny ears and little head. She felt him lick her fingers. That made her feel a little better.

“So why do _you_ hate the Deep Roads, Varric?” Sera asked.

“I’m claustrophobic.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows as she touched the walls of the tunnel. “You told me it was because it was cold.”

“He told me it was because of a story he once wrote that came true,” Iron Bull said.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Liesel said. “But his brother left him to die down here.”

Varric’s shoulders stiffened. “Wow,” he said. “Uh. Wow. You are a little more direct than Cole sometimes, huh, Princess.”

“Is he still alive?” Sera asked.

“You left me to die. You left all your men to die. _Brother, little brother,_ don’t let House Tethras fall like this.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened in the dark. “Varric…”

“This isn’t really…” Varric cleared his throat. 

“You dream about it now. Because now you can dream,” Cole said softly. “It was quieter before, in the past. Locked up tight and quiet in the deep-dark.”

“Goodbye, brother,” Liesel said faintly. She touched Varric’s shoulder. “You showed him mercy. He would never have been free of the madness otherwise.”

Eckona looked behind her. She could faintly make out Varric’s stocky form. 

“Ah geez, okay, yes, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me now,” Varric grunted in his gravely voice. “I had to kill my own brother because he went crazy when we found Red Lyrium.”

“Sorry, Varric….” Cole said softly. He touched Liesel’s arm to stop her walking. “It’s hard,” he told her. “But we have to...try to remember where we are. It calls to us, always. The hurts. Sometimes in different ways. But—sometimes it hurts our friends too. Even when we mean to help.”

Liesel looked up at Cole, searching his face and then back down to Varric. She reached down and touched his hair. “I’m sorry, Varric.”

Varric huffed a little. “It’s—it’s all right, Princess. It wasn’t really a big secret. I just—see it a lot when I sleep now. So it’s been on my mind.”

“Sometimes all that shit with the Veil was a real pain in the ass, huh?” Iron Bull said and then cursed loudly when one of his horns smacked into a rock.

“You said it, Tiny.”

“Would Dreams not open so many secrets and doors and imagination though?” Solas asked. “For a writer, I wonder how you wrote anything without being able to dream.”

“We all have our talents, Not-Anders.”

“Varric,” Cassandra said sternly.

“Who is Anders?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Varric grunted. “Look in the Fade, Chuckles. I don’t want to dream about Blondie tonight too.”

Around the bend, Eckona tripped. She grabbed her satchel to protect it but managed to keep to her feet. She invoked her arm to cast a few seconds of golden light over the space. “There are remains of a fire here.”

Cole came forward and knelt to touch it, then dragging debris to himself and lighting the tinder. Iron Bull came forward with his pack to hand down some of the wood they’d brought with them. “Looks like this was made some time ago. Could be Shaper Valta and her crew passed through here.”

“We may as well camp then. There are no signs of any fighting here,” Cassandra said.

When they had, Eckona walked over to Varric, who was sitting at the edge of the light, cleaning Bianca. She sat down next to him, holding Faolan. “….are you all right, Varric?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Not really, I guess.”

“I suppose none of us really know how to help you or what to say. Not being able to dream is as difficult for us to imagine as dreaming was for you before all this."

“I kind of miss not being able to dream,” he replied. “I've seen what dreams do to all of you. It seems like dreaming is the mind’s way of making sure you go crazy when you've been through a lot of shit.” He shook his head. “But sometimes it's not even about the dreams themselves. Sometimes it's about how I feel when I wake up. I feel sick a lot. I didn’t know that could happen. The bad dreams make me feel sick when I wake up. I guess I didn’t know how real dreams could feel when you’re in them.” He sighed. “I’ll be all right, Snow.”

“Still though, Varric…”

He smiled at her in that crooked, humorless way he did. “C’mon, let me see the wolf pup again.”

She turned so her body was facing his and offered out Faolan. The little wolf smelled Varric’s fingers and climbed over into them. He nibbled at the dwarf’s sleeve.

 _Da’fen da’fen tel’lahna_  
_Dur lavta durgen’en, mamae era_  
_O ma, o ma, somniar enamah_  
_Evanun o ma gavamah_

The two of them looked over at Arlath. He had a soothing low baritone that carried the words like the sails of a ship. Soft, slow, echoing in the small spaces. It was nice to hear music. They hadn’t previous out of concern for attracting unwanted attention but it seemed not to matter much suddenly. What could they awaken that could be worse than what they’d seen already?

Solas tilted his head. “This is a lullaby?”

Arlath nodded. “There are other verses. I don’t know them.”

“What did he say?” Varric asked.

Eckona smiled a little at Arlath. “Little wolf, little wolf, don’t you cry. Beneath the range of mountains, mama sleeps. Of you, of you, she sees dreams. Sunrise is coming to nip at you.”

“Wolves once traveled with the warriors of the Emerald Graves. That’s why there are so many statues of wolves there. I mean….besides mine, I suppose.” Solas looked uncertain of how to reconcile that for a moment and then pressed on. “Each warrior had a wolf of his own and they fought together.”

“I always wondered where it came from,” Eckona said softly. “We don’t listen to the words of little songs like that when we’re young. It just sounds pretty.”

“And creepy,” Sera huffed.

“It sounds like me?” Cole asked.

Sera rolled her eyes.

“Did you dance to it?” Liesel asked Arlath. “At your camps?”

“The children did sometimes. Usually around the fires.”

“It was fun for them,” Cole said, eyes lighting up. “They danced and sang on the first day of fall, which was the Wolf’s Day.”

“Even we had that,” Sera said. “In the alienage, anyway. Not so much after. But there, we did.”

“What is the Wolf’s Day?” Liesel asked.

“Wolves get a bad reputation sometimes. But they are admired for their strength of will. There was a saying among another clan we met on the road once—Clan Karlavaan—when something was obviously not correct and you wanted the other person to know it, you might say, _Does a wolf perform in the circus?_ The answer, of course, is no. Lions, elephants, tigers—are all bigger and stronger than the wolf. But they will perform in the circus. You never trust a wolf to be completely tame. It remembers its own nature better than many animals that are physically stronger. The idea was for each of us to have the strength of a wolf, to walk your own path, but to know your limits. When you might become savage, you have to make a choice.”

“Walk your own path? The Dalish said that? Are you sure?” Sera chuckled. “They wanted everyone to submit.”

“It was an ideal,” Arlath said. “Many cultures have similar turns of phrase. And the wolf is both admired and reviled in many cultures.”

“Why the first day of autumn?” Cassandra asked, leaning back against the rock and watching Arlath.

“The wolf is…fierce but not so savage as winter. Wolves—like any dog—can be fiercely loyal to their packs. To their masters that they love. Having the love of such a beast—was….” He seemed to search for words. “….was like summer love. Heady, wonderful, complete. But—one must always be aware not to push the wolf too far. It’s still its own master. If you show cruelty, its bite can be sudden. Like autumn—balmy days can lead you into a false sense of security. You become lax, complacent. And that’s when it suddenly snows and people die.”

“It was also supposed to serve as a cautionary story to twins who were bound like Anock and I were. They were supposed to be fiercely loyal to each other but the unbound twin was supposed to remember to be wary of the bound one. Because the bound one might turn if given provocation,” Eckona added quietly.

“Ha, so you were the wolf, huh?” Sera said, smirking.

“I….” Eckona looked down at Faolan. “I….guess I was.” She shook herself. “Aren’t we all a dreary lot lately?” She jumped up. “Liesel, come here. I’ll teach you a dance.”

The spirit bounded up eagerly, Cole followed automatically.

“Arlath! A song please!” She called out, voice echoing everywhere around them. “C’mon Sera. You like this sort of thing.”

Sera grumbled and made a fuss but she got up to jeer and point at them. “Varric, do you know any dances?”

“You don’t want to see me dance.”

“I could teach you all one,” said Iron Bull.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

“Qunari are so controlled in everything. Do they even dance?” Sera asked.

“We have a few,” he said and got up. “Everybody up.” And then, “Uh…boss…you kinda need two arms for this.” 

Eckona laughed. “I got it. I’ll supervise.” She bounded over to a rock and stood up on it like a general overseeing her forces.

“And to be higher than sucking level, Varric.”

“Seriously, Tiny. Why? Why would you say that?” He laughed as he went up to stand with Eckona.

“Liesel and Cole, Cassandra and Arlath, Sera and Solas.”

“I am not much of a dancer,” Cassandra scowled.

Sera groaned. “Oh c’mon. Him?”

Iron Bull stood firm. “C’mon Seeker, quit complaining. Sera, there isn’t anyone else. Solas won’t bite you—“

“He might!”

Solas just rolled his eyes. 

“Fine—Cole, switch with Solas.”

Cole didn’t mind, smiling to himself and going to Sera. “I like music,” he told her.

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that about fifty times.”

Solas went to Liesel, hesitating but she just smiled and offered her hands. “Don’t worry,” she told him gently. “You’ll be family again one day, if you keep to the path you’re on.”

Solas looked at her a moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly and then took her hands.

“Remember to look at them, Liesel,” Cole said, sounding immeasurably proud of himself as he was able to advise her. “Dancing is hard. You have to listen with your feet as well as your heart,” he said, beaming at Sera.

“I have to remember not to poke around in anyone’s head,” Liesel told Solas, very seriously.

“I imagine it would be distracting to do so.”

Bull began to call out instructions while Varric and Eckona watched. Sera was predictably grimacing and complaining until Cole seemed to put her at ease. She didn’t have to be self-conscious with Cole and she took the lead. The more she relaxed, the more she smiled, until she wasn’t even sniping at Cole. Arlath and Cassandra had Varric laughing silently into his fist as both moved like they were trying to figure out how to work a weapon in somehow. Cassandra had been classically trained in dance, as she was noble. Arlath had had no training at all. But both warriors struggled to figure out which one should lead. She conceded to him eventually, as he was taller. But it was still a few more turns until she could relent completely. He smiled when she did—something slightly more predatory in his gaze. Like maybe he enjoyed the challenge she presented. Solas had no problem at all—he effortlessly took the lead with Liesel. He was graceful and sure in every step.

“Remember to keep your eyes up, Liesel,” Solas reminded her. “If you look at your feet, you’ll miss the point of dancing.”

“It’s hard to look at the eyes,” she said. “That’s where thoughts come in and out. That’s where feelings live. It doesn’t pull Cole as much anymore but I still feel it a lot.”

“It’s all right,” Solas told her. “If you need to stop at any point and regain your bearings, just tell me.”

She seemed to let go of all hesitance and simply allowed Solas to lead her. 

Eckona couldn’t seem to help but watch, throat tightening up. 

_Come! Before the band stops playing! Dance with me, Vhenan!_ He’d had the same gentle smile, felt so at peace, his eyes warm and kind. 

_And right before that, he’d killed Felassan._ That brought her back to earth sharp and cutting. She looked away from him and stood up. Varric followed her with his eyes, still holding Faolan. She smiled a little to reassure him and turned away, reaching over to touch the stump of her left elbow with her right hand. 

She walked out to where the cave opened into a massive cavern of the Deep Roads. The dancing and laughter was muted over here. Enormous statues of paragons were faintly visible in the dark. And so was something else. Eckona narrowed her eyes, looking down to a level far below. 

A small party came out of a massive set of doors, lighting the sconces by them. Eckona knelt at the edge so any with sharp eyes wouldn’t catch her silhouette. They were not dwarves. At least, not all of them. One dwarf, perhaps, a few humans or elves, and Qunari—so perhaps another team that was lost? One of them cried out, pointing. The party dashed back from the door as darkspawn came shrieking out of it.

Eckona jumped up, whirling around. “DARKSPAWN!” She screamed at the tunnel and then she grabbed her dagger, running to a curving ramp that would take her to the party below.

 

At the campfire, Cassandra bailed, grabbing her sword and throwing Arlath his axe. Solas summoned his staff to himself and he went running with Cole and Liesel, Arlath and Cassandra. Varric hurried off the rock, gently laying Faolan in Eckona’s satchel and boxing it in with their packs before grabbing Bianca and running after Iron Bull. 

Solas breached the cavern, running to the edge and seeing Eckona’s shadow appear like a ripple from the air as she slammed herself wildly into one of the creatures. It conjured something odd in him. Almost familiar. Almost…

“Solas! Let’s book!” Varric shouted at him as he ran by. 

 

 

Eckona ripped through darkspawn flesh, blood spattering everywhere. She invoked her spirit arm—she’d learned to juggle her blades quickly so she wouldn’t drop one in the middle of an attack. So long as she was focused, she could re-invoke quickly enough to keep going. She dodged gnashing teeth and claws, dashing beside one of the humans. The two of them went back to back. 

“Who are you!” the human called out. He was male and carrying a pole-arm.

“Eckona—who are you!” She asked, rather bemused as they were still fighting. Her daggers burst through a chest cavity, blood exploding out of a creature’s back.

“Ivan Trevelyan,” he said, flipping, whirling. His pole-arm was like an extension of himself, ripping and tearing like a needle and thread. 

“Trevelyan—the Grey Warden?” She asked, sliding around him and gutting one of the monsters. 

Cole and Liesel appeared, ripping and tearing and then dodging aside for Iron Bull and Arlath and Cassandra to deliver finishing blows. Solas stayed back, casting barriers and found his eyes scanning, trying to find pale-silver hair in the middle of the battle. Sera stood near him on the ramp, planting arrows with Varric. 

With the others, the darkspawn dropped like stones and left them and the Warden standing together, panting.

Warden Trevelyan took off his helm. “I appreciate your help. You’re the Inquisitor, aren’t you?”

“Formally, yes. You fortified Haven, didn’t you? Stroud made you Warden Commander.”

The man had thick auburn hair, matted to his face with blood and sweat. “I did. Orzammar was afraid you’d never get their letter since they weren’t sure where your Ambassador was. It seems it got to her in Antiva City?”

“Yes, it did—and you?”

“Wardens and the Legion have a lot in common. When I heard they needed help, I brought some of mine to Orzammar.”

“Is this….all that remain?” she asked softly, looking at the group. 

“Yes,” he said. “We burnt the dead, one of whom was our guide. We’ve been down here for a long time. Do you know what happened to the dwarves? They changed suddenly a few weeks ago. And then the darkspawn went completely berserk. Even for them. It was…. ” He shook his head. 

“How _long_ have you been down here?” Cassandra asked, eyes widening.

“It’s been weeks. One of the bridges collapsed—I don’t even know if it was above or below anymore. We fell—there were strange dwarves and darkspawn _everywhere_. And then the dwarves all lost their Stone sense—for days they were delirious….”

Eckona looked at the group. They were ragged. Seven of them were all that remained. Five of them were Wardens, including Trevelyan, one was a dark-haired dwarf and one appeared to be a Qunari mercenary, as she didn’t have Warden armor but was carrying a handsome pair of swords.

She took a deep breath, glancing at the others. “Warden Trevelyan,” she said, “come to our camp. There is…a lot to tell you.”

“Did the Breach open again?” he asked, seeing her expression to the others.

Iron Bull snorted. “Oh shit, did it.” 

“Come on. Were any dwarves named Renn or Shaper Valta in your party?” she asked, leading the human up the ramp.

“Valta—that’s Valta,” he said, pointing at the dwarf. “We lost Lieutenant Renn to the darkspawn.”

“How many came with you, Commander Trevelyan?”

“A dozen Wardens came here with me and we joined up with a party of six Legion dwarves and Shaper Valta.”

She looked sidelong at the man. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her and then pressed his lips together with a solemn nod. “Losing people is never easy. Though, I’m sure you know that, Inquisitor.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly and then pressed forward. “Do you have food and water? We have some we can spare.”

“We have some hardtack and water left. There are also nugs down here. They’re small but the ham isn’t bad.” 

Eckona chuckled. “With some butter and a little spice.”

“Ew,” said Sera. “Gross. Seriously. Ew.”

“I recognize some of your companions from the various accounts, descriptions, wanted posters and paintings,” said Warden Trevelyan. “And Seeker Pentaghast is known to all Wardens.” He inclined his head to the Seeker, who returned it.

“None of them were at Adamant,” growled Cole, prowling on the edges of the group. 

Warden Trevelyan did a slight double-take at the spirit. “No. We weren’t. I wasn’t even a Warden then.”

“You became a Warden _afterwards_ ,” Solas exclaimed in disbelief.

“Well, it’s not really handled the same way anymore. We don’t drink darkspawn blood any longer.”

“Do they still teach you not to think? Still teach you mindless obedience?” Solas asked, glaring at him.

“Solas. Knock it off,” Eckona said sharply. “You’re not really one to talk right now, are you?”

Solas stiffened, expression turning into a scowl.

“No—it’s all right, Inquisitor. I’ll answer,” said the Warden, looking Solas in the eye. “What individuals decide to do is on their conscious. I was traveling with three Wardens with a band of mercenaries I captained, the _Dragoneers_.”

“Oh, that’s a good name,” Iron Bull said approvingly. “We should tell Dorian.”

Sera burst out laughing.

“We met them in a tavern in a village south of the Banderwind River. They told us they were looking for a Warden—Stroud. The three of them were deep into the Song by that point—it was…difficult to watch. But they asked us to travel with them, so they wouldn’t succumb to the madness. Apparently, Commander Clarel had sent word for all Wardens to come to the Approach. They said they went—and found Clarel doing blood magic. They escaped. They were looking for Stroud hoping he might be able to tell them what was going on. The ones who stayed weren’t _real_ Wardens. They were cowards.”

“At least on that, we can agree,” Solas said.

“What happened to your company?” Iron Bull asked.

“I agreed and we went with the Wardens. The longer they resisted the Song, the more unstable they became. One of them went mad and we had to kill him. We couldn’t find Stroud, so we came up with a plan to try to take out Clarel—or that Tevinter that was with her.”

“There were Wardens who resisted,” Cassandra said, astonished. “If only we had known about them...”

“They didn’t know who to go to or who to trust. They weren’t sure about the Inquisition because it had Warden Blackwall with them. So they didn’t go to you. Some of them were old enough that they suspected that he wasn’t Blackwall at all. And then, of course, it turned out they were right.” He shook his head. “So we went to the Approach.”

“Take it that didn’t go well?” Bull said, crossing his arms.

“No,” said Trevelyan quietly. “We were ambushed. The Wardens were taken and probably turned into demons. My crew was butchered. Nasha and I escaped. There was nothing I could do. We found another pocket of Wardens in the Hissing Wastes and we joined up with them. And then, of course, the Inquisition showed up and took down Clarel and the magister. We found our way to Stroud later. No more drinking darkspawn blood and infecting ourselves with Blight. So no, elf. They don’t teach that anymore.”

Eckona heard a muted little bark as they approached their fire. She hurried forward, going to her satchel and finding Faolan in it. She lifted him out to cradle him and he quieted. “Sit down, you must be exhausted.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Trevelyan is a noble house of the Free Marches, isn’t it?” Cassandra asked. “What is Lord Trevelyan doing leading a band of mercenaries?”

“I’m not the eldest and I have other siblings better suited to lead the family.”

“I heard you were a mage. Shouldn’t you have been at a Circle?” Varric asked.

The Warden smiled a little. “Yes. I should have been.” He and the other Wardens chuckled.

“You escaped your Circle?” Cassandra guessed. “Before the Rebellion?”

“Yes. I did, Seeker. I was there a few years and then I ran away,” he said. “Ended up in Seheron and met Nasha,” he pointed to the Qunari woman.

“Tal-Vashoth?” Iron Bull asked her.

She nodded. “You are too, yeah?”

He nodded and they exchanged a knowing sort of look. And then Sera caught her eye. Sera was staring at her with her mouth open, enraptured. Nasha blinked.

Iron Bull tilted his head and jerked it so one of his horns poked Sera in the head.

“Ow, you asshole! Watch your stupid head-bayonets!”

Nasha burst out laughing. 

Valta had been quiet this whole time. Now, she spoke. “Inquisitor—if you plan to further explore—I’d come with you.”

“Did you find out what was causing the quakes?”

“Not really—they just stopped suddenly but…I can still feel something.”

“All right,” Eckona nodded. “We’ll go with you.”

“I will too,” said Trevelyan. “But Nasha—you should take them back up.”

“No,” said the Qunari. “If you’re staying, then I am too. You’re too stupid to be left on your own.” 

That made Trevelyan snicker. “All right. Inquisitor—if that’s all right with you?”

“Yes.”

“Now—what happened above?”

“Oh, right.” Eckona took a deep breath. “You all better sit down.”


	5. Mages Make Everything Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All right, who’s awake? C’mon. Admit it,” Sera said aloud.
> 
> Iron Bull, Arlath, Nasha, Valta and Varric _all_ opened their eyes. Sera burst out laughing. “Why were we _all_ pretending to be asleep!”

Solas leaned against the stone wall at the edge of the camp they’d made. He lingered there a lot. Always at the edges. He could feel the eyes on him, it seemed. Or maybe it was just his imagination—or perhaps a guilty conscious. Cole sat with him a lot, which he appreciated. Liesel did too, mostly following Cole’s lead. It was kind of fascinating, watching the two spirits. Cole had been around in his current form before the first opening of the Breach. He had learned a great deal in his years in the Real—but it had never been so apparent until Liesel joined them. Cole was able to teach her about being more human. And sometimes, they’d have entire conversations that were incomprehensible to most of the party. Solas was sure he remembered bits and pieces of Cole. The spirit had made an obvious impression on him and when Cole had taken memory from him, well—he hadn’t taken _everything_. Some things were too bright (as Cole explained it). Cole was deeply attached to Solas. He could feel that every time Cole spoke to him or explained something to Liesel or looked at the elf when no one else seemed to understand the things he said. When he had difficulty explaining something to Liesel, Cole would always come to him. 

That did seem to make it easier for the others to talk to him. For if Cole would speak with Solas—then he obviously saw something worth speaking to in there. Iron Bull didn’t really treat him so different from how he always had. Bull was casual and perceptive. He remembered vaguely that that was how Bull had always been, despite his initial impression of Iron Bull just being a loud, crass warrior. 

Varric went back and forth a little bit. Sometimes, he seemed perfectly natural. Other times, he got a strange look on his face, like he was trying to reconcile something in his head. Cole had told him it was someone Varric used to know, a mage named Anders, who had brought the mage rebellion to a head and kicked off the real start to the violence. But it was also that Varric now had dreams. The dwarf was continuously unsettled by them. Perhaps he could offer to help the dwarf. That might ease his mind a little. 

Sera was aggressive and abrasive. Though he was told she’d always been that way. She was extremely blunt too and was not shy about throwing his past mistakes in his face. When he started to think about just leaving this strange group—she always seemed to know it. He deserved his judgment, her eyes seemed to say. And he better pay up.

Cassandra had, strangely enough, been the most forth-coming about the past, besides Cole. When he finally asked her to explain further some of the things he had done—she did not shy away from it. And as Cole had taken away a lot of the emotion that had clouded his judgment—it had become frighteningly clear what kind of man he’d been. How many lies he had told. The people he’d killed and hurt. 

“Why did you allow me to live?” Solas asked Cassandra, as she sat by the fire to take watch.

“Ghilan’nain did that. Not me.”

“Why did you not kill me afterwards?”

“I deeply considered it. But, I knew if there was a chance you could be redeemed, then I should allow you to try. And if you didn’t, then I _would_ kill you.”

“That is still a possibility then.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I hope it does not come to that.” For a split-second, her eyes flickered over to Eckona. The elf was sitting about fifty feet away at the ledge overlooking the caverns of the Deep Roads. She was holding Faolan, gently rocking back and forth. 

“She seems….more nervous down here,” Solas ventured. 

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Arlath was once a member of her clan. He told me that she has an intense fear of the dark, like a phobia.”

“The dark?” asked Solas. “Why the dark?”

“Her brother used to lock her in the bottom of their aravels. Apparently, she was never able to let go of her unease with the dark after that.”

“So why does she sit alone?”

“Because she doesn’t like to discuss it—and we never have, openly. Arlath only knew because he watched her grow up. And, of course…also because of you.”

Solas stilled and looked down at the fire. “I remember some things about her. Flashes and flickers of events—but none of the emotion that went with them.”

Cassandra nodded. “She can’t help how she feels about you but she’s trying not to bombard you with that. It would be unfair.”

“Cole said it was all tangled up with anger and fear and love.”

Cassandra looked at the fire. “Yes. That is so.”

Trevelyan appeared from the dark, having gone out with Cole and Liesel to look for mushrooms. The Warden paused by Eckona, speaking quietly to her. She looked up and smiled a little, showing Faolan to him.

He sat down beside her, taking a clip off his belt that had three dead nugs hanging from it. He started to skin one. She dipped her fingers in some of the blood and let Faolan lick it off. 

Cole and Liesel came to the fire with a bundle of regular mushrooms. “We can make soup,” Cole told them.

“Thank you Cole. I see the Warden has a few nugs as well,” Cassandra told the spirit.

He nodded. “It was sad but…everyone is getting hungry. They were glad to help, at least.” Cole picked up the small pot that he carried on his pack. 

“Ah, here, Cole. Let me take that,” Cassandra said. They were trying to teach Cole about cooking—but it hadn’t really gone very well previously. They had him stick to sandwiches when he wanted to try to make something. 

“Have you gotten a read on Trevelyan?” Solas asked.

“He wants to help,” Cole said. “He’s like Cullen. He feels quiet and strong.”

“And he remembered Faolan,” Liesel added. “He wanted to make sure we got a nug so that Faolan could eat something that a wolf should.”

“And Nasha?” Cassandra asked, glancing at where the Qunari woman was braced against the wall, sleeping. 

“There are many hurts in her,” Cole said. “But she ran away from Seheron so she wouldn’t have to do them anymore. She doesn’t mind being Tal-Vashoth. Her sisters had their mouths stitched shut. She never forgot it.”

Solas looked passed them at the Warden, who was handing Eckona a few chunks of raw nug. She pulled it apart with her fingers and then gnawed on it a little to soften it up before feeding it to the wolf pup. The Warden inclined his head to her when she appeared to thank him and he got up and made his way to their fire. 

“Not exactly gourmet, but better than nothing, Seeker. A few nugs—minus a little bit for the wolf. Where did you find that pup?”

“We found him down here,” Cassandra told the Warden. “We’re not sure how he got down here. Eckona adopted him immediately.”

“She seems very attached to him.” The Warden sat on a boulder to skin the two remaining nugs while Cassandra poured some water in the cooking pot. “Is she Dalish?”

“She was,” Solas answered. 

“So, not anymore? I heard she used to have the face tattoos but that they were removed.”

“Is that a problem?” Solas asked.

The Warden glanced up at him. “Wasn’t going to bring it up—I’m not Dalish so I’m not too familiar with their customs. I was just curious. I’ve heard that you were the one that removed them.”

Solas hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. I was.”

“That’s a pretty good spell. But it sounds like you have a lot of pretty good spells.”

“And you don’t?” Solas asked him.

“No—not much. Too dangerous in Seheron and Tevinter. And with the war down here—I got used to keeping it to myself. Learned the pole-arm instead. It works just like a staff as a focus tool but it’s less likely to bring up questions.”

“What else have you heard about me?” Solas asked, a little more carefully.

The Warden shrugged a little. “Heard you died. Didn’t recognize you with your hair until they said your name.”

“We would appreciate it if more continued to believe he was dead,” Cassandra said. 

“I can understand that,” said Trevelyan. He scratched his cheek, leaving a smear of nug blood in his scruff of facial hair. “You and her—you still close?” He asked Solas.

Solas tilted his head, examining the Warden. “We are…trying to get to know each other again.”

Trevelyan lifted an eyebrow. “From over here? She’s over there, you know.” He pointed towards the ledge.

Solas jerked back a little. “I don’t see what business that is of yours.”

“Just seeing how long you plan on waiting, pal. Seems like maybe she wants someone to talk to.”

“Why is it your concern who she speaks to?” The elf bristled a little.

“It should be yours. Not mine.” The Warden raised his eyebrows. “Unless, of course, it’s another lie and you plan to betray them all again.”

“Have a _care_ , Warden,” Cassandra said quietly. “We are judging Solas on his actions now. Not the past.”

Warden Trevelyan looked at Cassandra a moment and nodded. “I understand. But—you might find others who won’t wait. She’s pretty—in a sharp sort of way—I’m surprised no one’s tried to get with her before, especially since she's the Inquisitor. Seems like that would make her a target.”

“There were one or two who did. She tried to put the pain aside and go to Cullen. But in the end, she couldn’t,” Cole said quietly.

Trevelyan peeled a long strip of flesh from the last nug. “Why is that, kid?”

Cole looked at Solas. “Because she still loved him.”

“She couldn’t just put it aside,” Liesel added softly. “She wanted to sometimes. Cullen wanted her to, as well. It became too much to bear once. Both of them were lonely. But he knew the truth afterwards. And he told it to her and they both stepped away. She was sorry—she told Cullen she was sorry. The guilt ate at her. But if there was a chance to save Solas, she wanted to.”

Trevelyan snipped off the ears of the nug and started cutting up chunks, putting it into the pot. “How guilty did she feel after Solas removed her arm?”

“She didn’t feel guilty anymore. But she couldn’t turn to someone else, either,” Liesel told him.

Solas stiffened, staring at them. “I….I removed her arm?”

“Yeah, you did. We thought you’d killed her.”

Solas jerked his eyes over to Sera. She was laying still but her eyes were open now. Solas looked at his own left palm. “Because….of the Anchor?”

“Yeah. You saved her, hoping she’d come back and stop you or something probably. Something friggin stupid like that, instead of just asking her to. Or stopping all the crazy. Put it on her and us to stop you. _Again_.”

Solas looked at the fire. “I can’t make up for any of it. I know that.”

“She knows that,” Cole told him. “She just wants to know that you won’t go down that path again.”

“And how would I know how to do that?” he asked, sharply, scowling a little.

“Talking to _her_ would be a good start, you fucking twatpitcher,” Sera snapped.

“You make it sound simple.”

“That’s because it _is_ that simple. Mages make shit too complicated.” Sera rolled her eyes. “And you better get it together, elfy—because if you don’t—someone else _will_.”

Solas stood up. “I need some time to think.” He stalked away from them, bristling at their meddling. And yet, he could understand it too. He’d done terrible things. Still, feeling their constant scrutiny and judgment was infuriating. 

“You’re a good actor, Warden,” Sera said when the elf was out of sight. She grinned.

Trevelyan saluted lazily with one blood-covered hand.

“Wait, what?” Cassandra asked.

“He asked me about Quizzers—so I told him,” Sera said, shrugging. “He said men were stupid and offered to help.”

Trevelyan snickered. “Not to say I wouldn’t be up for showing the Inquisitor how good a man could treat her. She has a pretty decent resume of accomplishments and skills. But I’ve seen Rutherford. If she didn’t fall for _that_ guy, then I don’t have a chance.”

“Oh, you know him, do you?” Sera asked, smirking.

He snorted. “I’ve _seen_ him—I don’t _know_ him.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“I know.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“I can go either way. Play for both teams.”

Cassandra scowled. “ _What_ are you two talking about?”

Sera and the Warden both snickered. 

So did Iron Bull.

The three of them looked at the Qunari.

“All right, who’s awake? C’mon. Admit it,” Sera said aloud.

Iron Bull, Arlath, Nasha, Valta and Varric _all_ opened their eyes. Sera burst out laughing. “Why were we _all_ pretending to be asleep!”

“And here I was hesitant to wake Varric for his watch,” Cassandra grumbled. 

“You can still hesitate,” Varric told her, closing his eyes again.

“Not a chance.”

 

 

 

“Faolan, Faolan, over here. Come on.” Eckona beamed, kneeling down. “Yes, here I am, you handsome boy.” She lifted the tiny wolf from the stone. “Are you tired? How about a ride?”

“You talk to him like he’s a kid,” Varric laughed. “Should I change your nickname to Mother of Wolves?”

“I'm down for that. That sounds badass,” Eckona said, grinning and putting Faolan into her satchel. 

“He’s blind but when he smells you, he’s happy,” Cole said, beaming as Faolan poked his head out from the opening of the satchel and smelled the air as Eckona walked.

“He is dangerously cute,” Sera said, doing a handstand and bouncing off a boulder. 

“I still think you should have sent him back up with the other Wardens,” Cassandra grumbled.

“No offense to the Wardens, I trust them—but I just….I found him. He stays with me.”

“Eh, they wouldn’t have known what to do with a puppy anyway,” Trevelyan said, reaching over and scratching behind Faolan’s ear. “He seems to put you at ease, Inquisitor.”

“I guess so,” she said, petting his nose.

“You know, might be something to look into for the Wardens,” Nasha said. “Wolves or other dogs—they’re smart and they’ve got a sense for darkspawn.”

Trevelyan looked at her thoughtfully. “That’s…actually not a bad idea. They do seem to know when the blood turns bad.”

“So are you with the Wardens?” Sera asked. “You don’t have the armor but you travel with them.”

“A lot of us don’t have the armor,” Nasha said. “After the Wardens’ disgrace at Adamant—a lot of it was looted or destroyed. Some of the medium leather and battlemage stuff remained—but nothing that would fit me.”

“You don’t need it,” Sera told her instantly. “I mean—there’s other things you can fit. You’re well fit. I mean. You fit. Me.”

“She’s not really big on subtlety,” Eckona told Nasha. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

“I’m getting the feeling,” said Nasha, looking down at the elf.

Sera suddenly looked startled. “Wait—you and Trevelyan aren’t—aren’t _together_ , right?”

“No!” Trevelyan said, sputtering on a laugh. “That would not go well.”

Nasha grinned. “Nope, when I’m with men—they have to be Qunari men. Cocks are too small otherwise. Can’t feel a thing.”

Iron Bull burst out laughing.

“But with women—I don’t mind.” She smirked down at Sera.

“Buttercup, you’re drooling,” Varric said, snickering at her dazed, enraptured expression.

“Shut it,” Sera told him and scurried to walk at Nasha’s side.

“There’s another door ahead,” Cole said. “There are so many doors.”

They came upon an opening, finally. Eckona’s mouth fell open and she stopped, staring up. “Holy cats…”

“Wow….” Iron Bull echoed.

“It’s lyrium,” Valta breathed. “It’s all lyrium. Completely untapped.”

“It’s like stars at night,” Trevelyan said softly. 

Solas stopped next to Eckona and glanced down at her. Her white hair turned silvery-blue from the glowing lyrium veins. It made her eyes look so green and…

She seemed to feel his gaze, a prickling on the back of her neck. She looked sidelong at him, meeting his eyes, feeling them _click_ together. The lyrium reflected like stars in his blue-steel eyes. It made her feel exposed suddenly, chest bubbling up with a familiar _rush_ of feeling. Staring up at him, looking into each other—

She caught the whistling sound just in time to grab her dirk, swiping it through the air. The arrow shattered in half, ten inches from Solas’ head, making the elf jerk and grab for his staff. 

“It's those dwarves!” Valta sang out. 

Solas grabbed Eckona and shoved her behind him, throwing a shield up around them. She scrambled, taking off her satchel. “Solas—can you—?”

“Yes, I’ll look after him. Be careful.”

She laid the satchel behind a rock that was behind Solas and ran to join the others. Trevelyan kept a wide berth from everyone else. His pole-arm had an eleven foot reach and he moved like a striking snake. Nasha had two greatswords that she dual-wielded. The strange dwarves seemed to last forever. They came and came and came—their brutality matched only by their sheer numbers.

Eckona invoked her left hand so she could summon a firestorm as Varric danced just out of reach, scrambling and scampering over stone and lyrium and bodies. 

The third wave saw Sera staggering to a higher rock. “Where the hell are they coming from?”

Eckona panted, wiping blood off her face. “I…what the shit….they…”

All around them, the ground was littered with corpses. Even Cassandra had to look around with some surprise. “There must be two hundred of them.”

“How many is that?” Varric asked. “Less than twenty a piece? Don’t tell me you guys are tired?”

“Says the guy with a trigger-spring bow,” Sera rolled her eyes. “Make yourself useful and set some traps.”

Varric had to concede that point, hurrying around to pull a few tools and implements from his pack. Solas created a ring around the group of fire mines.

“There’s more,” Liesel said. “They’re coming.”

“Shit,” Trevelyan said, rolling his shoulder. 

This wave was the worst. Trevelyan was clobbered in the back of the head and collapsed, which had Nasha turning on her heel and savagely chopping the dwarf in half, down into his belly. She whirled, throwing the dwarf off her sword.

Liesel slammed her blades into a face, eyes grey and wide and reflecting blood. “I can hear your singing. Don’t listen! Don’t!” Another dwarven rogue appeared behind her, kicking her legs out from under her and planting a dagger into her thigh. Liesel cried out, kicking at the dwarf savagely and he punched the knife into her again at her hip, crawling on top of her.

Cole blasted to her side, eyes hollowed and sparking with a sudden fiery rage that made Solas start and look away for just a split second as the spirit seemed to suddenly forget where he was….and maybe _who_ he was. Shadows of himself burst away from him, slamming fade-blades into everything around him and Liesel. And then someone ran into one of Solas’ fire mines—a dwarf attempted to go inbetween two of them. Both of them erupted, blasting the dwarf and Solas off their feet.

Solas’ ears were ringing, blinking quickly as he tried to stagger up. One of Sera’s arrows slammed into the dwarf’s face. 

“Solas!” Eckona yelled as she caught sight of him on his knees. She slipped on blood, scrambling across the rock in a full-tilt run—

Another dwarf slammed into her from the side. They hit the ground, skidded and went sailing off the ledge.

Solas was certain he felt his heart stop. He left his barriers, the magic, her satchel and ran into the middle of the fighting. He swung his staff, summoning a spell he hadn’t remembered before. Burning blasts of fireballs slamming down into the dwarves. It was suddenly so clear. He could see and feel every enemy. He could direct his magic to only them, searing silver lightening flashing through his eyes. He could—

He turned them to stone.

Cassandra stuttered to a stop, sword clanging on the stone dwarf that now stood before her. “Wh-what…”

The fighting ground to a halt, staring in some mix of horror and awe at the statues. Solas ignored them all, running to the ledge. “Eckona!”

She was, perhaps, fifteen feet below on a ledge. The dwarf who tackled her was stone. She looked up. “S-Solas….did you—“

“Do we have rope?” Solas demanded over his shoulder.

Varric hurried over. “Get over to Liesel—Cole’s going nuts.”

Solas whirled around and studied Cole, hurrying over to the spirit as he spit blood. The spirit felt frighteningly angry. Cole had never felt so angry before. He didn’t know what to do with it. It was coiling black and terrible inside of him. 

Trevelyan cast healing magic at Liesel but no one dared get too close. They all stayed about ten feet away from Cole. 

“Creepy…” Sera asked carefully.

He whirled around to face her, daggers out, _snarling_.

“Whoa! Creepy—holy shit!”

“Kid,” Iron Bull said, holding up a hand. “It’s all right. Calm down.”

Solas laid his staff down. “Cole,” he said gently. “She’s all right. You protected her and we can use magic to heal her.”

“I had to do it. I had to kill _all_ of them. I’ll kill _all_ of them. That’s what my knives want to do. That’s what they were _made_ to do. I _need_ to hear their blood sing on the ground. I _want_ it.”

“Cole,” Solas said. “Listen to her mind. She’s your friend. She needs you to come back now, Cole.”

Sera put her bow down. “Creepy…”

“I’m _not_ creepy!” He shouted, voice cracking. “I’m me! I’m not _like that_ anymore! I don’t kill people who don’t deserve it! They all deserved it. They all _needed_ to _die_.”

Cassandra motioned for the others to back away as Solas approached the spirit. “Cole,” he said again. “Remember your gentle heart. You are a spirit of compassion, Cole.”

Cole shuddered, looking down at Liesel, who stared up at him, curious and uncertain. Sera approached from the opposite side and gently touched Cole’s arm. It was shaking, bulging with tension and barely-restrained power. It jerked when she touched him but Cole did not strike. But his eyes turned to Sera and it chilled her to the bone. They were like blue, dead ice. She recoiled.

That seemed to trigger something in Cole’s head. His eyes gentled and his shoulders eased. By then, Solas had reached him and the mage gently took his daggers. “It’s all right, Cole.”

Cole shuddered and his shoulders curled in and he wrung his hands together, like he was the shy spirit again. “I…I thought she was dead.”

Solas touched his shoulder. “That happens sometimes, when something happens to our friends or the people we care about.”

Cole sat down on a rock, leaning over and hugging his knees. His huge hat lay over his shoulders and back like a shroud. He rocked back and forth silently. Liesel sat next to him, trying to understand the very human reaction Cole had just experienced for the first time. Sera went to them.

Iron Bull went to Varric and helped him pull up Eckona, wrapping a thick arm around her waist to pull her up. “Y’all right, boss?”

“Yes—what happened—is Cole all right?“

“He’s all right. Solas talked him down. Just like old times, yeah?”

Before she could answer, Solas came to them. “Are you all right?” he asked her, touching her shoulder and looking over her face as Iron Bull and Varric turned to go check on Cole.

“I—um. Yes,” Eckona told him, surprised.

“I just thought…when you—you went over the edge…”

“Is that when you turned them to stone?”

Solas nodded. “I…didn’t remember that spell until that moment. It suddenly came to me. It’s one I used to know though, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she told him, softly. “It is.” She searched his eyes, reaching out to touch his coat. “I saw you on the ground…I thought….”

“Yes…I…” His left hand lifted and he hesitated. He wanted to touch her face. His shoulders were broad and tense and he felt only the singular urge to return the fearful touch he felt on his coat. She was not afraid to touch him—but afraid he would push her away. It made something sharp and painful tighten in his chest as he searched her eyes. “I want to remember you,” he said softly. Solas reached up and touched her hair, very lightly.

“Me too. I mean, I want you to,” she breathed softly. Her fingers tightened in his coat. "I mean--"

A small yip sounded from across the cavern, making both of them jump—not realizing how quiet it had become. They both froze though—seeing as everyone was staring at them. 

“Don’t mind us,” Iron Bull said.

Solas pulled his hands away. “I…I’m…”

She looked down. She cleared her throat and wiped her bloody hand on her armor. “Um—well. Thank you. Solas. Um.” She hurried away to go find Faolan. He yipped again, crawling out of her pack and padding over to meet her. She scooped him up and he licked some blood off her face.

 

 

 

Valta helped them break into the next door and they found a series of rooms to make camp in. Iron Bull found a large chest that he smashed open with his hammer. Arlath helped him pry the silverite studs and supports out of the wood so they could use it for the campfire. All of them spread out into the labyrinth of rooms, tearing down doors, chests and anything else that was made of wood. 

Except Cole.

Cole wandered out the door into the lyrium cavern. He touched his shirt, trying to examine what had happened to him. 

Eckona stayed at the camp, as she only had one arm. She got the fire going and started to boil some water for coffee. Liesel paced, fidgeting a lot by the fire, wringing her hands.

“Liesel—are you all right?”

“I don’t know how to help,” she burst out, turning in a circle to look out the door at Cole and then back at Eckona. “I felt him—he was…so…dark. So dark. He’s always so kind,” she said fretfully. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Eckona got up at the distress in Liesel’s voice. “Liesel…it’s….it’s a part of becoming more human.”

“But he _hurts_ and I can’t _help_.”

“Yes, you can, Liesel.”

“How!” She asked, touching at Eckona’s sleeve. 

“He cares about you, Liesel. Go to him and be his friend.”

Liesel took a shaky breath. “Stay with him until he feels better?”

“Yes, Liesel. Cole….has never had that kind of reaction before. He’s confused and not sure what it means. But he knows it’s all a part of becoming more human. Now, if he tries to leave—come and get one of us. But for now…I think maybe you’re the best one to go talk to him. Give him a hug. I don’t think he quite knows what that is—but he will.”

“How does that help?”

Eckona smiled a little. “Come here, Liesel.”

The spirit walked up to her and Eckona showed the girl her hand before stepping into her and embracing her. “Do you feel that?”

“It’s…warm. And close,” said Liesel curiously. 

“When you care about someone and you hug them—it’s telling them that you care about them. Without words.” Eckona pulled back and let her go. “Do you understand?”

“I’m not sure,” the spirit admitted. 

Eckona chewed her lip. “Do you remember when Cassandra and I fixed your hair?”

“Yes. Should I fix his hair?”

Eckona chuckled. “Not quite. Right before that—Cole combed your hair. Do you remember how that felt?”

Liesel looked down, fidgeting. “Um. It felt nice. Like it wouldn’t hurt.”

Eckona nodded. “Yes. So do the same for him.”

Liesel nodded back. “All right. I’ll try it. If it helps, I’ll let you know.” She managed a faint smile and then turned around, vanishing.

Eckona couldn’t help but sit on a stone chair. She could just see Cole, standing alone and then Liesel appearing beside him. She touched his sleeve and then embraced him. It was a little enthusiastic at first, she nearly knocked him over. But then he looked down at her curiously and his hands came up to embrace her in return.

Sera came bounding into the room. “Hey look! We found loot! And—ancient dwarven hot springs. Oh yeah. Can’t wait to use those.”

“You found _hot springs_ ,” Eckona exclaimed. “No way!”

“Yes way. These must have connected to baths of some kind. There’s two really big ones and two small ones. The mages are cleaning them out right now.”

“Oh. That’s gonna be awesome,” Eckona said, hugging herself. “My clothes are so packed with dried blood—they itch! It’s driving me crazy! And to finally be warm!”

“Right? I think Cassandra died a little bit inside. From happiness, I mean. She didn’t want anyone to know, of course. But all I can think of, is how hilarious Dorian would have been if he was here.”

“Aw, Dorian. I wish he could have come with us.”

“Me too. Hopefully next time. I even miss his complaining. Fuck that stupid Elgar’nan. Glad that pisser is dead.”

Iron Bull came in with a bundle of wood over his shoulder. “Seems like the dwarves abandoned this place in a hurry. There’s a lot of rooms here with stuff in them. Blankets, even. Trevelyan’s gonna bring ‘em. We were hoping—“ he looked around. “Where’s the kid?”

Eckona nodded towards the door. “He…said he wanted some time alone. And then Liesel went out to him.”

“Oh really?” Sera said, getting up again and peeking around the open door. “Ugh, it’s so cute. And gross,” Sera said as she studied the spirits. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“It’s just a hug, Sera. It’s not like they’re making out.”

“What?” asked Iron Bull, peering over Sera’s head through the doorway. “Aw. Good for him.”

Eckona laughed. "We're all, like, Cole's aunts and uncles."


	6. The Door is Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It feels…like the Fade. But not.”
> 
> “It feels solid, like a mouse trapped in a deep bowl. It can see the sky. But it can’t find the door. The door is deeper,” Liesel told them.
> 
> “Like…birds,” Cole said. “Shining blue eyes and raven wings. Masked faces without faces. They are. There. But not. It wears whichever mask it needs. And then they drown.”

Solas’ long ears twitched against the stone. Most elves were very conscious of their ears and he was no exception. So, even in sleep, even in exploring the Fade, when he felt something touch one of them, he jerked awake. 

He found himself face-to-face with Faolan. The blind wolf pup stared at him with his milky-white eyes and then licked his face. Solas jerked in surprise and could only cringe, closing his eyes and huffing to himself. He sat up, wiping his cheek and nose off, casting an annoyed look down at the pup. It was creepy how the pup stared back at him with his sightless eyes. He made a soft little wuff, tail wagging. 

Everyone else appeared to be asleep, except Sera, who was sitting near the door to the lyrium chamber with her bow leaned up against the wall. They had built a camp in these chambers. Arlath had even found a small forge, which he relit and used the silverite and other metals they’d salvaged—as well as the armor of the dead dwarves--to make what repairs he could to their weapons and armor. Iron Bull had made a game out of stripping the bodies of all clothing and armor and throwing them over the ledge with Nasha. He threw them consistently farther but she looted them faster. They had some large piles of their strange lyrium-armor, another pile of their clothing and another with any gold or trinkets they’d been carrying. Nasha gathered up the weapons, examining each one for cracks and wear. She gave Sera all the bows and quivers of arrows for her and Varric to fight over. The other weapons went to Arlath. The elf had worked with pyrophite and so was accustomed to volatile metals but he was wary of these lyrium weapons. He put one sword directly into the fire and then backed away several paces. Cassandra lingered nearby in case he needed help. But the sword didn’t explode or burst into flame and so he approached the forge again to carefully pull it out and try giving it a hit with a discarded hammer. 

And then Cassandra had closed the door to the forge so no one could watch any longer. And no one was really willing to bother them.

The clothes of the dead dwarves, as well as their own gear went to one of the hot springs to wash. It bubbled red now with all the dried blood that had soaked in to all the fabric. Solas and Trevelyan had strung a line in the room for their things to dry. The Warden, Varric and Valta went out afterwards to set more traps for nugs.

Now, most everyone was asleep, except for Sera, of course, and the puppy. Solas watched the pup circle around him and let out a tiny puppy-growl before bounding forward to nibble at his bare toes. Then he ran a few feet away, came back, ran away again. Solas peered at him and followed a few steps. That seemed to be what the pup wanted. He raced from room, going the opposite direction of Sera. Solas looked around at the other sleeping rolls. Sera, from her spot by the door, raised an eyebrow at him. He turned and followed the pup. 

The pup scampered through the various rooms, his paws seemed too large for him as he slid around on the stone. Solas picked up his pace a little. “Faolan,” he said quietly.

The pup stopped and looked back at him. His eyes seemed lyrium-blue for just a moment. Once again, Solas felt a twinge of unease at the pup. Whatever had happened to him down here, it had changed him. He wasn’t a normal pup. Faolan circled and then started again, running now. Solas hurried after him.

He started to hear the humming the farther they went. Faolan yipped by a hole in one of the walls and Solas followed him through it. This humming was different—just a little. More like singing. Like he could almost make out words if he could listen just a little harder. 

Going through the hole was strange because when he looked back, it was gone. He stared at the wall. It was no longer stone but appeared to be some kind of pale marble. The elf looked behind him.

The puppy was still ahead of him, watching him with his milky eyes.

“Where are you leading me?”

The puppy turned in a circle and sat down, silent. Solas touched the smooth marble, but any trace of an opening was gone. So he turned and followed the wolf again. He was sure he wasn’t dreaming. He could control his dreams. Even now, he was very adept at lucid dreaming. But….something felt off…

And yet, he wasn’t really worried. He was more curious. He’d always been too curious.

Who had told him that? Someone had said that to him?

The pup led him through a doorway of marble and oak, edged in gold leaf and he froze, stopping still as a glacier.

Elgar’nan stood in front of him.

Not _him_ per se. But a younger Solas.

A much younger Solas.

This Solas had his hair in warrior’s braids, black and fine and stiff with dried blood. He squared his shoulders, facing the Great Elder. The Sun Elder. “My lord,” he said stonily.

Elgar’nan inclined his head. “I had little hope for such a young savage from the north. There is an intelligence to you, Solas. Is that your given name?”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, eyes still hard as stone.

“How fitting. And your parents?”

“Dead.”

Elgar’nan smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t make a lie with that face, Solas. Let me ask you, young man,” said Elgar’nan, walking in a circle, hands behind his back and fingers clasped. “If you wish to get through a courtyard and you know people are looking for you—what do you do?”

Solas lifted an eyebrow at him. “Is this a trick?”

“Far from,” said the Sun Elder. “Answer.”

“You walk.”

“Why?”

“Because running attracts attention.”

“So why do you lie like one who would run?”

“Because what the fuck does it matter to you where my parents are?”

In a flash, Elgar’nan was in front of him, grabbing him by the throat. “Because I can end your life now. Or later. It is entirely upon my whim.”

Solas struggled. He knew the Elders were strong but this…it was like a vice of stoneheart, completely unbreakable. His air ran out, no matter how hard he struck at Elgar’nan. No matter how viciously he threw himself back. That grip did not abate a hair. His nostrils flared, eyes bulging and bloodshot. It made the steel-blue look shiny and organic. 

“Your anger is like the smallest ant that rages at the highest mountain. Do you know how insignificant you are?”

Solas managed one final gasp as his vision started to go dark—

And Elgar’nan dropped him.

Solas wheezed desperately for air, coughing on his hands and knees. He shuddered, eyes wet and lips shiny with foam. He saw the edging on Elgar’nan’s robe. Who wore a robe into a battle? The Elder-King of the elves, of course.

Elgar’nan drew his sword, a sparkling testament of superior crafting and skill. The edge flicked down, touching Solas’ throat. “I should kill you now for your insolence. An unwashed northern savage, unmarked and yet you came south to play war against our brethren. Why would you join our war, child?” He gestured around them. “Do you enjoy the scent of blood on the breeze? The mist of the tears of the dying? The crying of the helpless as we slit their throats and steal their valuables.”

The young Solas looked uncertain of how to answer, looking up at the Elder. 

“Answer!” He barked.

“I wanted to see!” Solas choked out. “I see much in the Fade. I wanted to see new things. My mother and father did not want to see. They had no gift for it.”

“So, you left them to find your own way. How long have you been aware of your magical ability?”

“Since my fifteenth year.”

“And how many years have you seen since then?”

“I have seen one hundred and twenty-nine summers.”

Elgar’nan smiled. “The dreams of youth, so young and bold. I can feel your power. It’s what drew me out here. It’s unusual to find one so naturally gifted out here among the drudges of those without magic.” Elgar’nan circled him again. “Stand, Solas of No House but His Own.”

The young elf eyed him and then did so, backing away just out of arms-reach. 

The Elder looked amused at that but said nothing of it. He grabbed Solas by the shoulder and withdrew the boy’s sword from its sheath. “You got this from a human?” Elgar’nan lifted the blade, shabby and threadbare compared to his own shining saber. “And were you taught to use it?”

“No.”

Elgar’nan raised his eyebrows at him.

“My lord,” Solas added stiffly.

“Wonder of wonders, the savage learns.” The Elder dropped the blade onto the blood-soaked ground. “This blade is hardly fit for someone of your ability. With this war, we will unite. Mythal and Falon’Din and his brother, Dirthamen and their Fade-smith, June. They will join my house in Arlathan, with Andruil and Sylaise. And we will create the most prosperous era the elves have ever seen. We will stretch from shore to shore and never will there be a stone that hasn’t been overturned by one of us. A bigger war is coming, Solas of No House but His Own. What will you do then? Become a slave?”

“I will _never_ be a slave,” Solas scowled.

“Many say that, until they become one.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Bold words. If you truly believe that, then come to Arlathan, boy. Present yourself before me at the House of Elders. We will see if you can be taught.” And with that, Elgar’nan sheathed his own sword and walked away. 

Solas fell to his knees in the blood-soaked dirt as the sky went red to the west.

Mythal, Dirthamen, Falon’Din and June arrived at the House of Elders that fall. The truce among the seven would leave each with their own lands that would be governed from Arlathan. A ruling council, as it were, that would be overseen by Elgar’nan. Mythal had shining dark hair and bright, white eyes. Her gaze was unsettling, like the moon in a red sky. She was flanked on one side by Falon’Din. A necromancer and assassin, he had taken to his given title moreso than some of the others. He never said much about it but then, he never said much of anything. He did whatever Mythal asked, generally. For when Falon’Din was left to his own devices, the madness seemed to reach him the quickest. That, at least, he seemed aware of. So he often lingered at Mythal’s side as a bodyguard, face always dark and stormy. And even when Elgar’nan approached her, Falon’Din touched his sword, eyes burning.

Mythal raised a hand to still him and looked up at Elgar’nan. She didn’t look impressed with the Sun Elder. “Truce is made, Falon’Din.”

“Does your dog need a leash?” Elgar’nan asked, lifting his eyebrows at him.

“You better hope not. There is no leash that could hold him,” Mythal replied.

Dithamen was the shadow, dressed all in darkness. Still, compared to Falon’Din, he was meticulous and neat. He bowed to Elgar’nan, sharp eyes already sizing him up.

“And you are Dirthamen, Mythal’s spymaster.”

“My Lord Elgar’nan. Allow me to introduce June, the Fade-smith.”

June was much younger than the other Elders but his prowess with tools could not be matched. He followed Dirthamen’s example, rather than Falon’Din’s, bowing a little over his arm to Elgar’nan. 

“And what does a Fade-smith do?” Elgar’nan asked.

“He marks our slaves and servants,” Mythal answered, eyes still hooded as she stared Elgar’nan down. “June created a magic using blood that allows us to permanently mark them. It cannot be undone by any magic.”

“The ones with the face-markings?” Andruil said, standing behind Elgar’nan with her arms crossed. “We just used chain or tattoos on the arm.”

“We find slaves are less likely to mangle their own faces so to pass for the Unmarked.”

“Interesting. I should like to see this method, June,” said the Sun Elder.

“Yes, my lord,” said June, glancing at the others and then back at Elgar’nan. 

“Allow me to see you all settled. We will be family now,” said Elgar’nan. “Past divisions will be behind us. Together, we will make Arlathan the true envy of all races.”

Sylaise, hair woven with lilies and seashells, studied the assembled group quietly. She said nothing, sizing each of them up. Dirthamen: pretty and arrogant. June: young and naïve. Falon’Din: full of madness and anger. And Mythal: extremely dangerous. She glanced over at Andruil, who smiled. 

“You must be the lovely Sylaise,” said Dirthamen. “I have seen your concoctions first hand.”

“Hopefully, they will not cost you a second hand.”

Dirthamen’s eyebrows went up. He smiled.

 

It would be five full years before the younger Solas appeared in Arlathan. Of course, this was hardly a blink of an eye to the elves so he was still expected. Or, at least, no one seemed surprised at his presence. A dark-haired northern elf, bound in warrior braids and beaten leather armor. He could no longer resist his curiosity and whatever Elgar’nan had in mind for him, he had to see.

He was escorted into the House of Elders when the guards learned his name. And he suddenly found himself standing in front of seven Elders. Falon’Din’s dead stare was a little unnerving. June smiled, looking rather friendly. Dirthamen circled him like a scorpion. But Mythal peered at him, probing gently, as if she sensed something interesting in him.

“He has a great deal of natural ability,” Mythal said quietly. “Young man, your name is Solas, is it not?”

“Yes, my lady,” he said. It was strange, trying to look directly at Mythal made something in him become tense and prickly. 

Elgar’nan stood and smiled. “You will be my apprentice, boy. You served well, five years ago. You haven’t cleaned up much—but we will fix that. June—you will be Solas’ guide in the House of Elders. Go.”

June got up quickly to escort the new apprentice. “He didn’t test you,” June said curiously as they walked down the hall together.

“What?” Solas asked.

“He didn’t test you. Many come here hoping to become an apprentice to one of us. They’re always tested. But not you. He made his decision before you arrived. You must have impressed him, little brother.”

“Then what will he do with me in this place?” Solas asked, eyebrows furrowed.

June smiled a little and unlocked a massive oak door with a wave of his hand. “Whatever he wants, likely.”

Solas stared at him suspiciously as he stepped through the door.

And then fell. He fell and fell and fell. He fell into water, deep and dark and cold. 

 

 

 

Eckona had dozed off in the baths, sitting alone and letting her body soak away all the pains and aches and bruises. Finally feeling warm and elf-like for the first time in a few weeks. Varric was keeping a marking of how many days they’d been down here but no one was really sure how accurate it was. She tracked it by how much Faolan had grown since she’d found him. A tiny, mewling little bundle of fear was now bounding around, scrambling to walk on the stone with her rather than be carried. He was eating meat more than broth now. His fur was turning a pretty silver and black—even moreso after she’d given him a bath. 

Eckona awoke when she heard his paws skittering across the floor and smiled when he raced up to her and licked her cheek. She nuzzled him and got up, wrapping herself in a towel and going to pull down her clothes. Faolan nipped and raced around her feet. “What’s got you so wound up?” she asked him, smiling a little as she pulled on her trousers and boots. 

He gave her a little bark, ears roving around.

“All right, all right, I’m coming.” She got up and followed him, walking back through the hallways to the campfire. 

Sera had her hands on her hips and was saying, “I don’t know. Look—just ask her. There she is.”

Cassandra was touching the hilt of her sword. “Eckona—have you seen Solas?”

Eckona straightened. “No—why—where is he?” 

“We don’t know. Sera said she was on watch for four hours and never saw him leave. When she switched with Iron Bull—they noticed his bed roll was empty.”

“Figured he just went to piss or something while we were talking,” said the Bull. “But that was two hours ago.”

“So he wasn’t with you?” Cassandra asked.

“No…he—I was in the baths. I fell asleep.” Eckona felt the first clutch of panic at her heart. She whirled around to Cole and Liesel. “Can you two—can you feel him? Do you know where he might have gone? Did he leave us?”

“He’s still here,” Cole said, frowning to himself.

“But…not,” Liesel added. “He’s here. But not _here_.”

“Wh-what does that mean? What does that _mean!_ ” 

“Stay calm, Eckona,” Cassandra said sharply. “He could be anywhere. 

Faolan barked at them, running around Eckona’s feet again. 

“We have to look for him,” Eckona said.

“Eckona. We have a mission here,” Cassandra said patiently.

“And what if something has happened to him?”

“Orzammar asked us to look into the disturbances here, Eckona.”

“Then go. I’ll for him by myself.”

“That is a _terrible_ idea,” Varric said. “You’ll never make it out of here by yourself.”

“And what about _him_!”

“Ecks, maybe it’s….for the best. I mean—he mighta just gone back to the surface—“

Eckona looked at Sera, glaring. “I’ve gone through too much for that asshole to abandon him _now_.”

“He’s still here,” Cole repeated. “But…there’s something…different.”

“How different?”

“It feels…like the Fade. But not.”

“It feels solid, like a mouse trapped in a deep bowl. It can see the sky. But it can’t find the door. The door is deeper,” Liesel told them.

“Like…birds,” Cole said. “Shining blue eyes and raven wings. Masked faces without faces. They are. There. But not. It wears whichever mask it needs. And then they drown.”

“Some kind of demon, maybe?” Eckona pressed. “Something—like that?”

Cole and Liesel looked at each other and then back at her. “He is down below. Somewhere.” He looked at the rock.

All she could imagine was him being trapped in the darkness. 

“Right so before we all run off in a panic, let’s do a sweep of the area,” Bull said. “In groups. No one goes off alone. If we find no sign of him, we go down. That’s where we’re going anyway, right, Valta?”

She nodded. “Whatever is making the singing is still below us. It could be he’s in the same place.”

Cassandra, Sera, Arlath and Trevelyan headed down. Eckona, Valta, and Varric stayed at the camp. Iron Bull, Nasha, Cole and Liesel went to the other wing that connected via the maze of rooms they’d holed up in.

They didn’t go very far. Cassandra led Sera and the Grey Warden down a sloping ramp of rock to take a look into the chambers below. Sera notched an arrow to her bowstring. “Elfy, you here?” She called, rather unenthusiastically.

“Sera,” Cassandra grumbled.

“What if he _did_ just go back to the surface?”

“Do you _really_ think he would have done that?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows.

Sera huffed. 

“Then quit saying it. You antagonize Eckona when you do.”

“Whatever,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“Wait,” Arlath said, holding up an arm. “Is that…a pup?”

Deeper into the chamber, through two other doors, eagerly sniffing around where they could see him, was Faolan. He seemed to feel their gazes, looking right at them.

“Ugh,” Sera cringed a little. “That’s….weird. Did he follow us?”

Arlath exchanged a look with Cassandra. He pulled his axe around and Cassandra drew her sword. They approached the first destroyed door.

“Faolan,” Arlath said quietly.

The pup ran in a circle and then sat quietly, staring at them with his milky-white eyes.

Cassandra stepped through the doorway. “Come here, pup.”

Faolan yipped, turning in a circle again. 

Cassandra couldn’t quite explain but those white eyes sent a chill through her. All the hair at the nape of her neck was rising. “We should go back. Now.” She turned around.

She was alone.

Cassandra was now facing a decrepit wall. It was faded stone and half-covered in dirt and vines and wildflowers. She backed away from it. “Arlath! Sera!” She turned in a circle. “Trevelyan?”

She looked at her boots, damp now with dew from the long grass of the plains. 

She heard a bark and narrowed her eyes. The puppy was still ahead of her, sitting in the grass with its pearly eyes staring at her. “What are you!” she demanded.

He barked.

“What—“

“No, no! Come on!” Came a familiar voice. “I’ll take the daggers and punch it right into the flesh! Wham-wham!”

And then a familiar, warm laugh. “You have to get bigger first, Cass.” The owner of that laugh came around the destroyed wall.

Cassandra almost dropped her sword as the entire world ground to a halt.

“Anthony…..”


	7. Andraste's Apple Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Sera/Past Lover  
> \----------------
> 
> Sexual manipulation is one of the worst forms of manipulation. It takes all your loneliness and natural desire for companionship and uses them against you--leaving you confused and feeling helpless. If you ever feel like someone is trying to control you in this way--get out. Get away from them. They will isolate you from friends and family and keep you with them under the guise of caring. 
> 
> (And yes, this is the person and event that Cole references in chapter seven of Before the Wolf.)
> 
> \----------------
> 
> “Who are the Bold Dancers?” Valta asked.
> 
> Varric shook his head. “Well, we weren’t dancers. That’s for sure.”
> 
> Eckona pocketed the disk and drew her dirk. “All right. Let’s go save our dumb friends from demons. And find out what’s wrong that’s making the ground sick for Valta. And then afterwards, we’re gonna drink until we throw up.”

Cassandra was almost thirteen. She bounded around her brother, a short sword at her hip. He had two Nevarran curved cutlasses made of obsidian and dragonbone. Her brother was tall, broad-shouldered and had a kind smile. His eyes were amber-brown and he was always laughing, it seemed. He was seventeen, already a man grown. He had five dragon kills to his name in just the last year. She’d seen him at the last one. He had never let her come with him previously. But she got to watch that time, both excited and terrified for him. He was so agile and quick and when he struck, it was like a crack of lightening. He was the epitome of a true Pentaghast, was Cassandra’s expert opinion. And he was happily complicit in helping her sneak out of the estate, getting her riding leathers for her and bringing her into the valley to practice. Her short sword was perfectly balanced and specially made for her. 

Anthony grinned at her as he drew one of his swords. “All right, Cass, how much do you remember from last week?”

“Everything!” She told him eagerly. 

“I’ll hold you to that. You might end up pretty sore if you don’t.” 

She drew her shortsword, shifting her stance opposite of him and stuck her tongue out at him. That made him laugh. He came at her with immaculate control, enough to push her but not purposely harm her. She blocked and parried, jumping back and dodging away from him.

“Keep your feet moving, Cassandra. If you stop, you’ll grow roots right into the ground.”

She wrinkled her nose at her boots and then dashed around him to stab. His sword rang against hers. It was a pure, beautiful sound when the air was so fresh and clean. They trampled the grass as he advanced on her, pushing her back. But she kept her feet, flittering around him.

“Like that! Good, Cass! You’re small and quick. Men will not want a woman to beat them—keep up that quickness. A dragon will find it harder to eat you if you can jump away.”

“How do you suppose we taste to dragons?” She asked, slipping on the grass and flailing, going into a roll instead of letting Anthony help her. 

“I imagine we probably taste like chicken. Or maybe brunto?” He mused. “Our uncles probably taste like bacon with all the fat. But we are lean with muscle. So maybe venison.”

She laughed, dancing back, rooting herself to block a blow that sent vibrations up her arms. “I suppose their clothes would be like gravy to a dragon.”

“Their expensive capes, especially.”

“Is that why you don’t wear a cape?”

“Yes. Dragons have claws, little sister, and large teeth. If they caught hold of a cloak or cape, a dragon would just reel me in to eat me. Cloaks are for weather and travel, not for fighting—not matter how dramatic they look.” He reached over her head and gave a little tug on her braid. 

She shoved at his arm, laughing. “Will I have to cut it off?”

“Maybe. Unless it will stay pinned up. I’ve met a hunter or two with long hair. Even I have longer hair than most hunters.” He reached up and tugged on his short pony tail. “Many cut their hair just to be sure it can’t be used like a tether.”

“What about—“

“Pentaghast!” Came a voice, shouting across the plains. 

Anthony caught Cassandra’s wrist to stop her mid-strike, straightening up to peer at a group of people approaching them. “Mages,” he said to her quietly. “Sheath your sword, Cass. They look like apostates.”

Cassandra saw the look on his face and instantly complied. She backed away behind him a little bit as the group of mages approached them. Anthony kept his sword out. “Can I help you?” He asked them politely.

There were six mages. All were robed and carried staves. 

“You are Anthony Pentaghast, yes?” asked one, a man with dark hair and dusky skin. 

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“I am Reminus Thelfassine. I’ve sent you several letters.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed a little. “The blood mage?” His lip curled. “I already gave you my answer the first time. I threw the other letters into the fire.”

“We thought we might be able to convince you in person,” said one of the others, a woman with dark hair and grey eyes.

“I’m not killing a dragon for you. There are six of you, go handle it yourselves.”

“You already kill dragons—what is it to you to simply collect the blood for us,” said Reminus. “We would pay you.”

“I don’t want blood money. Whatever you plan to do with dragon’s blood can’t be anything but bad.”

“You know little of magic, Pentaghast. We offer you a fair deal.”

“And I fairly _refuse_ ,” he said sternly. And then his eyes twitched over to one of the other men, “And if you don’t stop eyeing my sister like that, I’ll give your friends _your_ blood instead.”

“You either come with us or we kill you. How about that, Pentaghast?” Reminus said.

“How awful is this ritual you’re planning that you’re willing to kill me over some dragon blood? Go to the black market.”

The mages exchanged looks.

“Last chance, Pentaghast,” said Reminus.

Anthony took a step back, gripping his sword tighter. “Cassandra—go. Run.”

“B-but…Anthony—“

“Not necessary. The future dragon hunter needs to see what power her foolish brother refuses.”

“Leave her out of this,” he growled. “She’s a child.”

Reminus nodded to one of the others.

Anthony drew his second sword and—

His spine stiffened and he gasped, choking on a breath. His boots dug into the grass as he tried to move. His body was locked in place. “Cassandra! GO!”

But she couldn’t. She tried to reach for her shortsword and she cried out, feeling a vice-like grip pull her helplessly forward. “N-no—Anthony! Anthony!”

“Stop it!” Anthony shouted. “Don’t touch her! I’ll kill all of you!”

But none of the mages made to strike the girl. They simple pulled her to them like a fish on a line and turned her around so she could face her brother. 

“There’s a war coming Pentaghast. You’ve chosen the wrong side. Those who do nothing, might as well be nothing. Your sister will see this for herself.”

“Anthony!” Cassandra struggled against the invisible grip, choking out a panicked gasp. “Anthony! What are they going to do!? What are you going to do! Let my brother go! Please!”

Anthony fought his bindings but one of the mages simply held out his hand and curled his fingers, forcing the dragoneer to the grass. His knees ground into the dirt. He swore, jerking as his swords fell from his fingers. “You cowards,” he snarled. “This is how you prove your point! This is how you get what you want? What are you, Tevinter magisters? Let her go!”

Reminus walked over and picked up one of Anthony’s swords. “Obsidian and dragonbone, last six inches of the blade serrated to bite into dragon flesh and tear.”

“Please!” Cassandra cried out, still locked in place by one of the other mages. “Please stop! Please!”

“Let her _go_!” Anthony shouted. “If you harm her—“

Reminus lifted the cutlass and brought it down in one smooth, flawless stroke. The blade tore seamlessly through bone and sinew and blood. Anthony’s head fell to the ground, face locked in anger. 

Cassandra’s mouth fell open, eyes emptying out. She screamed. She was free of the magic, suddenly. She staggered, stumbling to her brother. She grabbed onto his body. Blood spurted out of his neck. “A-Anthony! No…it’s—NO!” She grabbed her shortsword, jumping up again. “You—you bastards! You assholes! Why would you—I’ll _kill_ you!”

One of the mages flicked her fingers, blasting Cassandra off her feet. And then they simply turned and walked away. Cassandra struggled up, blinded by blood and tears as she crawled back over to her brother. “Anthony….Anthony….” 

It was like falling into blood. Falling into the red darkness. Falling and falling and falling into red, suffocating, helpless darkness. 

 

 

Varric sat by the fire, arms crossed. “It’s been a long time.”

Eckona paced restlessly. “They should have been back by now. Something’s wrong. We…shit. Shit. Shit! We did what they always do in stories. We split up. If I was a kid, listening to this, I’d be screaming at us right now. Solas was alone—at least, it sounds like he was alone. But how could _both_ groups not come back? Even if it was a demon—wouldn’t Cole and Liesel be all right?”

“I’m….look, all this shit is confusing. I understand magic not at all. But it’s been hours. We have to do something. We can’t wait here any longer,” Varric said. “Dammit. I hate the Deep Roads. I really, really hate the Deep Roads.”

There was a rumbling all around them. Eckona knelt down, snatching up Faolan from the ground so he wouldn’t go flying. “I thought the quakes had stopped?”

Valta knelt, touching the stone. “It did….but…there something else now. Something….” She closed her eyes to concentrate. “It’s….crying. It’s calling for me. It needs help.”

“Well, tell it to calm the fuck down until we find our friends!” Eckona snapped.

“Snow!” Varric said, uncharacteristically sharp. “Ever since Chuckles woke up again, you freak out at the smallest thing. You need to pull your shit together. This isn’t the time for character arcs! We never have any control and the world is big and sad and stupid. I need you to get your goddamn head on straight because you’re the only one tall enough to reach any jars I might need off any shelves.”

Eckona looked at for a long moment and then at the ground. “I….I’m sorry, Varric.”

“Then let’s go. I’m willing to bet a thousand gold that whatever problem is happening below—it’s got something to do with this.” He tapped the side of his nose. “That’s what I would do, anyway, if I were writing this story.”

Eckona took a deep breath. “All right.” She put Faolan down and grabbed her pack and daggers. “Let’s go then. We can—we’ll go down first. That’s where Cassandra went.” 

“We should also consider that this might be some other asshole who just wants a piece of the former-Inquisitor. It would explain why Chuckles disappeared first. They knew you’d come for him, if that is the case.”

Eckona felt all her anxiety evaporate. It was replaced by a flood of anger. “Oh, that’ll be the last goddamn mistake they make today.”

Anger felt better. Anger was better than melancholy or anxiety. She could _do_ something with anger. She stalked down the pathway to where Cassandra and her group had gone. There were a few footprints, doors cracked open and then nothing. They just stopped. Like the four of them had been picked up and carried off by ghosts. Dust and dirt was disturbed into the middle of the room. And then the tracks vanished.

Eckona spotted an arrow stuck in a ruined tapestry on the far wall. She went to it, yanking it out. “This is one of Sera’s. She was taken by surprise—had to be. I mean—the arrow would have snapped otherwise if she’d fired at full strength. This tapestry isn’t very thick and its solid stone behind it.

“Faolan—come back,” Varric grunted. 

Eckona turned around. “What’s wrong?”

Varric nodded ahead, where the pup had run between the next set of doors. 

“Faolan,” Eckona said, louder.

He turned in a circle and then sat down, staring silently at them. 

“That’s….weird,” Eckona pulled a torch off the wall and reached into the Fade, pulling it to her to light Veil Fire. “Wait a second!” She exclaimed and dug into her pockets, pulling out the medallion that Dorian had given her. “We can ask Dorian!”

“What—oh, shit! I forgot about that thing!”

“What is that?” Valta asked.

“Our friend Dorian made it—it will let us communicate with him while he’s in Athleanan.” She charged it with magic. “Of course, he didn’t say how it worked really…” She blew on it a little and the medallion turned warm in her hands, runes lighting up golden and fading around the edges. And then the medallion shimmered, turning cool and reddish-purple. 

“Dorian?” she said to the bit of metal and stone.

“My friend!” His voice came through, faint and distorted, like talking in the Fade. 

“Dorian, is that you! It’s us—I mean. Me. And Varric and another dwarf named Valta.”

“Valta sounds like the name of a very pretty dwarf. Is Varric interested in her? I can give some suggestions.”

“Dorian, you’re talking out loud, remember?”

“Oh yes, of course. What can I do for you? Are you all right?”

She gave him a quick rundown from finding the pup to the Grey Wardens and Valta to the others disappearing.

The medallion was quiet for a long moment. And then Dorian spoke again, “That sounds like powerful magic. I would suspect a demon, as you all did. Displacing people is more complex than it sounds. Especially how you described. Their tracks stop right in the middle of a room, you said? Almost like they simply stepped into somewhere else. Like the Fade.”

Varric threw his hands up. “Oh no. No. Not the Fade. Ugh, I hate that place.”

“But they can’t—right? I mean, wouldn’t their bodies be left behind?”

“Well…not necessarily. No one has been so far into the Deep Roads. There could be incredible unknown magic down there and with so much lyrium around—if anyone was taken by madness, would it really surprise you?”

Eckona frowned. “…I suppose not.”

“What kind of demon could do something like that?” Varric asked.

“Apparently Fear and Rage demons can no longer get through the Veil, according to our people here on the peninsula. Desire is more rare but very powerful. Also Conquest.”

“Conquest?” Eckona asked.

“Yes—Solas and I discussed them once. Spirits of Curiosity or Discovery can be turned to Conquest when corrupted. And Conquest does not require violence. A spirit could be calm enough to slip through the new Veil. As can Desire.”

“But what would demons be doing in the Deep Roads?” Valta asked. “There’s nothing here for them. Nothing to reflect or feed off of.”

“Well….perhaps before, no. But…now _you’re_ there.”

“Shit,” Varric sighed. “Nothing can ever be easy, can it?”

“It wouldn’t be any fun if it were,” Dorian answered. “Not to mention, we only know how the Veil and the Fade effected things on the surface. No one knows what could have happened in the Deep Roads. Also, that strange pup you said you found. It’s blind, you said?”

“Yes, he’s blind. Well, I mean…he _seems_ blind. His eyes are cloudy white.”

Dorian paused. “Hmm, well. It could be nothing. Or something. Be wary.”

Eckona looked at the dwarves and took a deep breath. “All right, Dorian—it’s really difficult to tell time down here so, check back in with us in a couple hours, okay? If we don’t answer, send a bird to Orzammar to probably collect our bodies.”

“It’s not nearly so much fun being threatened with death when I’m not there,” Dorian complained.

“Well, hurry up and fix your damn legs then,” Eckona smiled. When the medallion went still and faded back to grey, she laughed a little. “I miss that guy.”

“You’re still on.”

“Dammit, Dorian! How do you turn this thing on and off!” Eckona laughed.

“If you wish to gossip about my dashing good looks, simply tell it, _Bold Dancers is the best mercenary name ever._ ”

“Are you serious?”

“Dare we ask how to turn it back on?” Varric said.

“I could give you some tips. It starts with buying me dinner.”

“You wish, Sparkler.”

“Then simply say: _I promise to buy Dorian dinner when we get back._ ”

Eckona eyed the medallion. “Are you fucking with us?”

“Would I do that!”

“Yes,” Eckona and Varric both said.

“I guess you’ll never know, will you?” The stone’s light faded again. 

Eckona and Varric looked at each. “Just say it,” Varric said. “Just in case.”

Eckona rolled her eyes. “I’m going to get dog hair all over his clothes. All right. _Bold Dancers is the best mercenary name ever._ ”

“Who are the Bold Dancers?” Valta asked.

Varric shook his head. “Well, we weren’t dancers. That’s for sure.”

Eckona pocketed the disk and drew her dirk. “All right. Let’s go save our dumb friends from demons. And find out what’s wrong that’s making the ground sick for Valta. And then afterwards, we’re gonna drink until we throw up.”

“That sounds awesome,” Varric told her. “Valta, you and me in front. Snow, you behind us. You’ve got spitting rage but you can’t turn that into two arms.”

“You’ve got extra arms on Bianca. She makes up for it.”

“Damn right she does.”

“Faolan, come here,” Eckona said, picking up the Veil Fire torch from the floor. 

It made Faolan’s eyes glint blue. 

“All right. Let’s get this over with,” Varric grumbled, starting forward. 

Eckona raised the torch high and all three stepped through as one. 

Each turned around and found the other two gone.

“Andraste’s apple fucking pie,” Varric laughed.

“Stoner fucking gollums,” Valta said.

“Dammit, Solas,” Eckona said, and burst out laughing at the irony of it all.

 

 

 

Staran, a thief from Denerim, said the word again, “ _Serannas_.”

“ _Serannas_ ,” Sera repeated.

“Good—you _do_ remember some, I think. From whoever your parents were. Could be they were Dalish and ran away. But, city elves often can’t speak Elvish. The ones who can—are usually hiding something. Always play dumb,” Staran told her. “You play dumb, people will tell you everything. And they’ll speak freely in Elvish, thinking you can’t understand. People love to feel superior.”

“Pricks.”

“Yes. But easy to use to our advantage.” Staran grinned. “People are a lot more straight-forward than they believe. They’re not that complex. Most are selfish in one way or another and they all want to feel like they’re better than they are. In reality, everyone is an arsehole.” Staran pulled back her hair from her ears. “Even me.” She showed Sera where half of her left ear had been sawed off. “I was a slave in Tevinter. They cut off my ear when they caught me stealing. I burned the local Chantry down. It felt amazing. Watching them die. Listening to them scream for their gods.”

Sera looked sidelong at her slowly and then forced a laugh, grinning. “Musta been crazy.”

Staran’s eyes were far away and burning, like a dark eclipse. “It was,” she breathed.

Sera met Staran three months ago in a back alley. The other elf had lost her entire group to the Blight. She came upon the elf scavenging and looting corpses. There was nowhere to take the dead any longer. Every graveyard, fire pit—they were all packed to bursting. The city reeked of burnt flesh. The sky was always a haze of black from the belching smoke of the local butcher-turned-cremation center. Now, there was a pisser who didn’t get paid enough (if he or she got paid at all). Loading corpses into fires all day. There was a job to give you nightmares.

The bodies would swell, black and bulging, rotting from the inside out. Fingers had to be cut off to get to rings. Belt buckles pierced swollen bellies, spilling guts and blood and blackened organs in the street. Everyone was the consistency of a mushroom. Spongy, springy and rotten. It hung like a terrible, cloying perfume.

But Staran was different. Staran was real. Staran didn’t give two flips about the Blight. She roamed where she wanted, no matter how it stank of death and rot. She went into the abandoned homes to take everything that wasn’t bolted down. She ventured into the barricaded slums of the city, The Nest. The poor died by the hundreds in The Nest. She went in three days after the barricade went up, spiriting over rooftops and into shadows and passed the guards to drop into the slums and loot the houses. Her dark eyes, rimmed in yellow and her shining smoke-black hair made a halo in the sunshine. Sera followed her like the sun followed the moon in the sky. Together, they brought back trinkets, clothes, books, everything they could carry by the armload to their little hole. It was hardly more than a cave, lurking in an abandoned printing press. But they made it their hideaway, their home. They came back to it at the end of the day and curled up in each other. 

Staran didn’t care about the rest of the world but she held Sera, combing fingers through her hair before slipping down her throat to touch her budding breast. Sera looked down at her hand, watching Staran’s fingers trace around the nipple and then grab at it, kneading it. Sera bit her lip, chewing on it, and staring at Staran’s fingers. 

“Sera?” Staran asked quietly, tracing her other hand over Sera’s cheek, down her throat to her scarf. She gently pulled it off. 

Sera felt her breath catch.

“Has no one ever done this before?” Staran asked her quietly.

Sera swallowed hard, shaking her head.

Staran just smiled gently. She placed her whole palm over Sera’s breast while the other hand uncoupled the top buttons of her shirt. 

“S-Staran…” she managed. “I…”

“It’s all right.” Staran traced the buttons, feeling Sera’s nipple harden. She opened the other girl’s shirt, sliding the second hand in to cup her other breast. She shifted closer to Sera, cupping them, massaging the nipples with her thumbs. “Sera…”

Sera shuddered, shoulders curling inward. And then Staran leaned in, smelling like spiced wine. Her nose skimmed along Sera’s jaw, up to her long ear. And then down again until she pressed her lips to the side of Sera’s throat. Sera trembled a little, squirming. Her hands were suspended in the air—not sure whether to touch Staran back or grab for her dagger. 

Staran didn’t seem to mind her uncertainty. She urged Sera to lie back, following her, kneeling over her and kissing her throat again. The other elf gasped quietly and she moved lower to find one of her nipples. She kissed it once and then suckled on it. She felt Sera shift, hips writhing and the muscle in her thighs rippling. “A man will flick his tongue too lightly against your nipple, Sera. He thinks he’s being clever. You can’t actually feel that much. That’s why I know that a girl likes a little rough handling.” She sucked hard, feeling Sera’s spine arch against the floor.

Staran’s fingers slid down, opening Sera’s trousers, sliding them down her thighs. It was so hot between her thighs. Hot, wet and calling to her. She heeded it, following the path of her breastbone with her mouth. Her tongue left a cool trail in its wake as she slid down Sera’s body, taking in the scent of her. Taking in the heat of her. Then taking in the slickness of her. Her tongue lathed over her folds, gently holding her thighs and rubbing them gently with her hands as Staran found the secret hiding in that previously untouched skin. She nursed it gently, hearing Sera strangle a cry. She felt it when Sera’s abdomen trembled, when her thighs shook and her whole body started to tighten, curling up like a pill bug. And when it finally crested, the young elf shook, thighs squeezing hard against her hands as she moaned.

Staran watched her come down, eyes glassy and shaking. “And _that_ is why the rich get richer and the poor get children.”

Sera learned a great deal that winter, fighting away the cold by wrapping herself up in Staran. She was almost sure she loved her, as she as a fourteen-year-old girl could be, anyway. Staran did strange things some times, certainly. She came into a house once, with Staran standing over a man. Staran’s eyes were too wide again. That full-eclipse look of burning darkness returning full-blown as she slit the man’s throat. He gurgled as he died. She stared at the jumping veins, shoving his blood out into the world where it didn’t belong.

Sera stared at her. “….was he….was he still alive?”

“Yes,” Staran said softly, biting her bottom lip.

“Why did you kill him?”

“He was sick,” Staran said. 

“Blight?”

“Sick in his head,” Staran clarified. “He was _so_ sick.” She was still staring at the man as he bled out onto his sheets and blankets.

“….why was he sick?” Sera ventured.

“Because I poisoned his wine.”

Sera started. “You _what_?!”

Staran turned slowly to her, a hot smirk coiling up her face. “I knew it would be good like this. With the blood.” She grabbed Sera and yanked her in. She shoved Sera down by the corpse. “Good, right?”

Sera scrambled to get off the bed. “What are you _doing_?! He’s _dead_!”

“Soon, we’ll all be dead. The Maker will take us into his hands and then he’ll torture us to death. It will never end.”

Sera stared at her. 

“You’ll help me, Sera. Right?”

Sera hesitated, not sure how to answer. “I….all right…”

All right, maybe this was just a fluke. Sera sincerely hoped so. But Staran got bolder. Got louder. Where Sera would flicker in and out of shadows to escape detection, Staran dared the Denerim Watch to come for her. 

They just barely managed to escape when Sera whirled around, grabbing Staran by her shirt and shoving her against the dingy, moldy wall. “You have to stop this. Those people are good. They’re trying to help people! Why would you try and lure them to us? Do you _want_ to have to kill them? This isn’t just about taking shit that nobody’s using. They’re trying to protect people. From you!”

“From _us_ ,” Staran said. “Wasn’t that the goal all along? We’re in this together, Sera. Against everyone else.”

“But we don’t have to be!”

“You are my only friend, Sera,” Staran told her. “You are the only one I need.”

Sera stared at her helplessly. “You can’t do this anymore, Staran. I…I don’t know what’s happening to you but…you’re….I…”

Staran reached out, touching her breast. Sera cursed, seemingly unable to help how her nipple twitched and hardened. “See, Sera. You can’t help it. Part of you just wants to give in. There’s so much we could do, Sera.”

“You’re going crazy, Star!” 

Staran kicked her legs out from under her, taking Sera neatly to the floor, pinning her down. “I don’t mind.” Her hand slid down into her trousers. “Ha, and you’re so _wet_. You can’t help it, can you?”

“Stop it, Staran,” Sera managed, gritting her teeth. But she felt Staran’s fingers circle her, massaging at the nub of nerves. 

Staran kissed her and she reflexively relaxed into it, choking on a helpless moan. And then Staran slid two fingers inside of her. “You have to help me, Sera. You’re in too deep now.”

Sera came around her fingers, trembling and trying to suppress the wave of tears that wanted to crawl out of her eyes. 

Staran got worse over time, more violent, more insistent. Whenever Sera tried to talk her out of it, Staran always turned it on her. Until finally, one night the two of them went to the chantry. Staran was going to sneak into the front. Sera would cover the back. When she heard a whistle like a chirping nug, Sera would enter to assist her. 

But when Sera heard the whistle, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. How had she gotten to this point? She knew this Chantry stuff. Chantry was just trying to help people. The Blight had ravaged this city. How did it help anyone to rob a Chantry? Did Staran really care about her? Was it all just sexual manipulation? Sera wasn’t sure. She was only fourteen, after all. But everything in her coiled back this time. All this was wrong. It was wrong. It was—

A dagger pressed against her throat.

Sera jerked back, seeing the silver flash in the moonlight. 

“Now, Sera, why didn’t you come when I called you?” 

Sera froze. “….Staran?”

“Did you tell the guards of the watch? There are two of them inside right now. They shouldn’t be there, Sera. Why are they there?”

“I don’t know.” Sera craned her chin away from the dagger.

“Then why didn’t you come when I called?”

“What—you saw they were there so you tried to call me in so that I’d take the fall for you? Are you _bonkers_!”

The blade pressed tighter into her skin. “It’s almost like you’ve done this before. You have to be willing to get your hands dirty. Do things that others won’t, Sera.”

“Star, this is crazy. This is—too much. This is a _chantry_.”

“Who cares. When have the gods ever helped us?” Staran traced the dagger down, sliding into Sera’s shirt.

“Stop it,” Sera said, voice suddenly stronger, suddenly sharp. She grabbed Staran’s wrist. 

“What? Want to go back to your precious alienage? Or you want to bitch about Lady Bitchface liking her reputation more than you? Must be hard, getting to sleep in a warm bed at night.”

“She betrayed me!”

“That’s the world we live in, Sera. Everyone betrays everyone. People are selfish. Even you. Especially you, maybe. What does a soft little nothing like you know about real suffering?”

“I don’t—look, you just—“ Sera whirled around to face her. “You shouldn’t be doing this stuff. Just stop. We can go home. We can—“

Staran stabbed her. Right in the stomach. Right into her body armor and it caught on a steel stud. Sera looked down at it, expecting to see blood. But it never came. Her eyes went up to Staran. 

They moved at the same time. Sera punched her squarely in her face. Star’s nose burst, showering them with blood. In a flash, Sera had her dagger out. She blocked a blind strike from Staran with her hand. Her dagger pierced Sera’s palm and went right through it. Sera grabbed into the hilt of the knife with her fingers. With her other hand, she stabbed Staran in her throat. 

The elf stared at her as the light went out of Staran’s eyes. As the other elf’s grip loosened on her dagger, still embedded in Sera’s palm. The older girl fell back against the Chantry wall and slid down to the ground. Her throat gurgled, she gasped and then slumped. 

Sera knelt down, hesitating and then grabbing Staran by the hair and slitting her throat completely, just to make sure. She stared at the dead elf, eyes welling up in tears. Staran’s cold, black eyes. Like nothingness. Like the void.

She fell into those eyes forever. Falling and falling and falling.


	8. Depth Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had smiled at the little drawing under the note—a blocky version of him standing in front of everyone else while tiny Venatori pelted his massive chest with harmless pebbles. There was another small note to it that read: _But no depth perception?_
> 
> He could read her tone, her smile, in the things she wrote about him. It was…strange.  
> \----------------  
> Also, Eck has had about enough of your shit.  
> \--------------

Being made Tranquil had not really been that different from being with the re-educators. They go in, fuck with your head, straighten your mind out and give you focus. The change hadn’t really come from that. It came afterwards, when Liesel touched his mind. A spirit of Mercy, when she touched his mind she was able to see all the horrors there. But he’d felt no judgment, just an aching sense of sadness from her. There wasn’t just one bead of pain, there were many. They were all covered in mud and darkness, woven now into his insides with scar tissue and tar. She’d broken them free with a thought, taking them away. 

Perhaps it was the biggest change because he didn’t notice it at first. The nightmares were less frequent. His first thought wasn’t _always_ to kill. He could stand back, too. Stand back and let Cassandra take the lead. Look _after_ the Inquisitor instead of looking _at_ her. The feeling it brought around when they’d been in Halamshiral and her Mark struck her with such violent, aching pain. Her eyes opening wide in helpless agony, falling to her knees. The fist she clenched, the gritting of her teeth—it brought out this strange feeling in him. Like, rather than kill—perhaps he could _protect_.

He talked up the bodyguard bit but honestly, during combat, he didn’t think much about it. She presented an opportunity to kill, to work out the restless anger in him by taking out her enemies. And it was all part of his assignment. Not that bad.

But when she urged him to spare the Chargers…

He saw her a little differently after that. A gentle heart, wrapped up in shell of uncertainty and pain and anger. When she saw him petting one of the nugs (Blood Drinker), she beamed at him. But she never told anyone. That was what he found the strangest about her.

She never told anyone.

She saw him cuddling the little nug and didn’t say a word. To him, not to anyone else. He wasn’t ashamed exactly—but it wasn’t something he advertised either. He liked nugs. They were small. And cute. Like Cole said, they were kind. They didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Perhaps she’d seen something she hadn’t expected either. A kindness in him that he couldn’t show, though he regularly did in tiny ways. He hadn’t realized quite how much she’d taken to observing him until Dorian had read one of her journals when they went looking for Solas the first time. Him, Dorian, Sera and Cole – out on the road together. Eckona had had enough bad news for one night and gone to desperate escape in sleep. 

It was the spy in him that hadn’t quite died that made him get the journal from where it was stowed in her satchel. Dorian had returned it after writing some notes for her, as she’d asked. Despite their joking about it—Dorian did not read the journal—just skimmed a few pages and then Sera threw a mouse at him. Iron Bull had spent all night reading it. 

She’d made many little notes about him. At first, she seemed uncertain of what to make of his honesty—not sure if it was some kind of elaborate trick. But she dismissed that in her writing. She’d trust Leliana’s judgment. She certainly wasn’t smart enough to catch anything. 

How odd. She constantly wrote that—that she wasn’t smart or clever enough to catch anything—and yet, from her writing, she regularly did. This was why every child needed support, training, even love. 

_Tama_ …

It wasn’t that she was stupid. It was her lack of confidence that skewed her judgment. That’s why all Solas had to do was be _nice_ to her and she was ready to move the whole world for him if need be. A woman like that, a man like that—hell, anyone like that—who had that potential for drive and intensity and loyalty in the face of doubt: those were the sorts of people he got along with. No one in their little band _enjoyed_ the killing. 

Though according to her writings, she’d wondered. _He doesn’t smile or laugh unless its something like a dragon. Something big and challenging. But when we have to kill men—humans, elves, dwarves—he doesn’t laugh. Cruel people laugh when they hurt those weaker than themselves. Maybe he understands them too much to laugh at their fate? Or bad luck. Or mojo. Or whatever. Elven bogeymen._

He had smiled at the little drawing under the note—a blocky version of him standing in front of everyone else while tiny Venatori pelted his massive chest with harmless pebbles. There was another small note to it that read: _But no depth perception?_

He could read her tone, her smile, in the things she wrote about him. It was…strange.

He’d never read such things about himself before. When his personality was analyzed by the matriarchy, they found a liar, a killer, a berserker.

While her initial impression of him was that of a bi-peddle great bear that picked fights with giants—it changed over time. Notes on his combat tendencies switched to funny comments he made during their traveling. She started to notice how he allowed Solas to see how perceptive he was. She noted his kindness to Cole (though she noted everyone’s attitude towards Cole, like in that—him being the gentlest of them, how the others treated him would say more about who they were as individuals). And how he was like Cullen rather than Blackwall or Cassandra. It was a little confusing.

It was very confusing.

She noted the little things he did—always barging ahead of her in fights, glowering next to her in taverns so the other patrons would leave her be. He set up tents and built fires. He asked her how she was doing. He took her to some of her own soldiers, letting her hear their honest opinions. 

These all seemed very normal to him. These were things a leader should do. The best leaders were also able to follow. And he did. She’d expected resistance from him, given his size and bulk and reputation—but she found him perfectly reasonable. He was part-man, part-beast. But the beast was all on the outside, just the veneer. Inside, maybe….he had a kind heart.

A little doodle of him again with a spyglass and a heart trying to expand inside his chest while he looked curiously at it.

For nearly a month, she’d traveled with him, Cole and Solas almost exclusively. He’d noted it mentally but never really knew the reason until he read about it. Kind-hearted inside but a wall to protect it. To shield it from the world’s sadness and cruelties. Solas and Iron Bull had seemed so different, at first. But they really weren’t. They both tested the other’s boundaries and there had been less bickering and fighting that whole month she was with the three of them. She’d drawn little doodles of them under that note, his huge horns (Dragon Man!), Cole’s oversized hat (Demon assassin), Solas (smug mage) and a more elaborate staff. She’d labeled it: _Team : Secret Walls for Secret Hearts_.

He hadn’t known what to make of the passage when he read it. At first, he thought about it for a long time and wondered if she was correct. And then he started to think that maybe she _was_.

When he’d met Arlath, it had made more sense. Arlath was all quiet and taciturn, until you got him away from all the others. And got him drinking. The stern-looking elven warrior had a library of funny stories about his time in the bush. 

And then he’d met her _brother_. He could still remember the way the Dalish mage had stared at him in sheer disbelief. They’d run into each other near the shambling stairs that led to his sister’s room. He had been about to go up, looking mad as a hornet. Iron Bull had raised his eyebrows. 

“Go. Away.” Was all he said, quiet and firm.

Anock’s lip curled in that way all cowards’ lips curl when they’re trying to figure out how to make someone yield. “I’m her clan’s Keeper. Let me by. Now.”

Iron Bull shook his head and leaning down towards him a little. “No.” He smiled when he said it, shaking his head.

“I’m a mage!” the boy had tried.

Iron Bull snorted. “I’ve got axes that weigh more than you. Get outta here.”

But was any of it telling in any way? These were normal things, he thought. It’s what one did to support their leader. But after a while, he did have to wonder if it was about the Qun and its lessons in obedience or something else. 

Because Cole had asked him aloud, in front of the others, why Bull had protected him. 

_You’re a weird, squirrely kid. But you’re my weird squirrely kid._

And…it wasn’t a lie. It really wasn’t. The way Cole had sounded so uncertain and delighted with his heartfelt _Thank you!_ had raised a strange fondness for the kid. Like….like a friend.

The Inquisitor, Cole, even Solas—they had become….his _friends_. And when he realized it, the uncertainty was gone. He found he no longer cared about anyone else’s perceptions. He was happy to be Tal-Vashoth for these skinny humans and elves and dwarves. 

The Qun had made things so black and white for him….but in all these shades of grey, in all these flickering faces….where he might have once been lost—he found new ground. 

Perhaps that was why, when the Fade or the demon or whatever had happened, tried to show him his madness, his terrors, his bloodrages—he shut down. He barely saw it, creeping back from the images to hide in his head.

Like he had done with the re-educators. 

Hissrad sat, an obedient hulking drone, and Iron Bull just waited for it to be over. He was patient. He had time. At least, he had at that point.

He didn’t now. Maybe that was why he woke up first.

 

 

“The Iron Bull!”

He looked around, catching Liesel. She was behind some kind of field—like blue glass. Magical trap, perhaps. “Liesel….what happened?”

“A sparkle of air and darkness, a shadow,” she said. “It came and captured one by one until I was all alone.”

He walked up to the field. “What is this? Some kind of cage?”

“It’s made of the Fade,” she said faintly. “Don’t listen to it too much. There’s so much lyrium.”

“Where are the others?”

“We’re in the deep-dark. Under water and stone. I can’t hear Cole. I can’t hear the right Cole. It’s the wrong Cole.” 

Iron Bull heard the faint edge of distress seep into her voice. “Can you hear Nasha?”

“Yes. She’s being reflected.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s…..” Liesel looked at her hands for a moment. “She’s….in the Fade. But not. She’s not in the Fade. But down here…they’re not so different. It feels like the Fade.”

“Shit,” Bull sighed. “Can I get you out of this….thing?”

“I don’t think so,” she told him. She sat on the stone, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.

“All right. Sit tight, Liesel. I’ll have a look around.”

His hammer was lying in the water. It was glimmering blue, like the water was infused with lyrium. The hammer tingled when he grabbed it and pulled it out. 

He was in a cavern with a low ceiling. The only light was from the glowing bands of lyrium in the rock and under the water—and also from Liesel’s cage. He went to the wall, touching the edges of it until he found a tunnel. He kept silent, quiet as a cat. The tunnel led out to a wider cavern, also with a lake of lyrium-water. He ducked down.

A human-shaped figure was lingering at a rocky outcrop in the middle of the lyrium water. It hardly moved, just watching the water. He also heard a humming sound. After Liesel had woken him up—it seemed he was sensitive to magical energy. Maybe he was hearing the Titan she had spoken about. 

The wolf pup trotted out of the tunnel and shimmered, transforming into a person. Bull ducked down further so his horns wouldn’t cast a shadow. 

“You found the rest?” said the person on the rocks.

“Yes,” said the shapeshifter. “The other spirit…is partially human in some strange way. It’s difficult to pull illusions from him. They’re either too faint or too loud.”

“Did he Sleep, like the rest?”

“Not…completely. He can’t be bound like a normal spirit but…I can’t possess him, either.”

“Bring him here and try again. He’s stronger but we can still use the other spirit if it doesn’t work.”

“The Seeker also resists.”

“Bring her as well. And the dwarves. Both of them.”

 _Varric and Cassandra._

Bull watched the strange shapeshifter vanish. It was a spirit of some kind. It created Illusions. Well, that would explain how their entire group could get tangled all at once. If it could somehow create illusions from the Fade here in the Real, then they would all be lost when they’d probably just stood right next to each other until the spirit came to collect them. But wouldn’t it be odd for a spirit to take commands like that? Unless it was bound….but then…what was the person on the rocks? Was he a spirit? Could spirits bind _each other_? He didn’t think that was a thing but then—he was no mage. Could it be blood magic?

Honestly, he might as well just _assume_ blood magic, really. Seemed like it was always fucking blood magic. If it _wasn’t_ blood magic, he’d be more surprised. 

The spirit returned with other, smaller spirits, as they each carried one of Bull’s friends. None of them looked as though they’d been injured but…..

_Their eyes…._

They were open but milky-white. Almost like someone who was _blind_.

Cole’s were less white than the others. He seemed even mostly conscious, twitching and sitting up when the spirits laid each one of them down where the lyrium-water lapped the edges of the stone. 

“Get out. Get out.” Cole rocked back and forth, repeating the words over and over. “Get out! Get out! I don’t want you in my head. Those things aren’t mine. You don’t _do_ that. It’s mean.”

Cassandra was twitching. Her whole body twitched like she was electrified. Like she was struggling to wake from a nightmare. Her eyes were more grey than white. She gritted her teeth. Did her Seeker ability keep her from being still and limp like Varric and Valta? Varric was staring eerily at the ceiling, mouth partially open, breathing ragged. There were tear tracks from the corners of his eyes. 

“Get out of them! You have to! Let me go. Let them go. _Let me go!_ ” Cole told them. “You have to let me go.”

“You will choose—manifest the will, turn human enough that we can take you or turn more of a spirit and we will bind you to us.”

Cole choked back a terrible sound. Bull recognized it instantly. It was a sound someone made when they received a brutal, fresh wound. He’d seen interrogators draw it out plenty of times. For a moment, the eyes are open and bare, the body shakes, the voice chokes. Somewhere between a sob and a gasp as they helplessly react to blinding pain. 

Cole was in agony. He was crying. He was constantly resisting whatever the spirit was trying to get from him. To try to act would be to give in, stop the pain, and then be controlled against his will no matter if he became more a human or more a spirit. And the entire time he remained in limbo—it was helpless torment.

Cole continued to shake, legs in the water as he rocked back and forth.

“Incredible,” said the person on the rocks. “Illusion, how long can he last?”

The spirit looked at Cole. “Long but not forever. He is strong.”

The person on the rocks stood up, finally. “What about the dwarves?”

“One is just a storyteller. The other is of the Down dwellers. She knows this voice.”

“The Titan. Does she know how to wake it?”

Illusion looked at Valta, staring sightlessly into the air and seeing nothing. “No. Maybe. The Titan likes her.”

“Cast it. I will see.”

Illusion frowned but seemed bound to obey. He reached out and the water shimmered, reflecting what he saw in Valta’s mind. It came to life in the pool of lyrium-water. The person watched it. Illusion looked around the chamber. His eyes seemed to pass right over Iron Bull. 

“Have you found the Inquisitor?”

“She was not with the other three when I arrived.”

“How could she have escaped your power?”

“She’s the Inquisitor. She has the lighthouse.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. She’ll come to us. Is the mage fighting it?”

“He has been sundered from the Fade but…” Illusion shook his head. “But…not how the Seeker has. It’s different. She fights the blanket and warps the blanket and sometimes can even stitch holes in the blankets. But he… _made_ the blankets. Yet. He isn’t warm from them. Almost like the cold never bothered him.”

“So you can’t control him?”

“No. Not completely. Like Compassion. But not. The mage can’t resist either. Like a stone, a boulder. I can’t move it but he can’t run away either. I think some of the others _know_ him.”

The person didn’t appear to be listening to Illusion. He knelt down to the pool and scooped up two handfuls of the lyrium-water. He drank it silently, leaning over as he shook with tremors that coursed through him. “Be Jeremy again.”

The spirit tilted his head and then shifted, changing form into a young man. He was smiling, with laughing eyes and a fiery heart. 

“You remember him with such incredible accuracy.”

“Yes, I am Illusion.”

“How would you become Deception?”

“It would depend on the manner that I was turned. Deception, Greed, Destruction—they are all possibilities.”

“How do you know which ones are more likely?”

“I don’t. The whispers don’t say. No one is just one thing. No one is glass. Everyone has cuts, facets.”

“But you’re a spirit. You’re bound to me. You have a purpose. You create illusions.”

“An illusion can be…many things.”

The strange man on the rock sighed. “Then we’ll go to one of the hearts. More lyrium-blood. I have to touch the mind of one of these Titans so that I can fully control it.”

The stone around them rumbled. 

“They don’t _like_ it when you say that,” Illusion told him.

The person scowled. “If I cared about that, I wouldn’t be trying to control one in the first place.” The stone around him shifted, sailing like a boat to the edges of the lyrium lake. He stepped up onto stone and took another long drink from the pool before he grabbed into the Fade, twisting it, pulling the chain that tethered parts of the Titan to him and opened up the floor. The water poured out in a flood.

So did everything else.

Bull grabbed onto a boulder as it fell through the gaping hole in the floor. And stared in stunned wonder. There was light everywhere. Light and towers of stone and _trees_ and mist. How could this be under ground? It was as if they’d found the other side of the world. He jumped off the boulder before it landed.

Wherever the others were—they hadn’t fallen with him. Wait—this wasn’t an illusion, right? He didn’t think so. It hurt when he landed. The strange man didn’t appear to be a mage—and he took great gulps of the lyrium water before doing anything that should have required magic. But the man spoke completely coherently—while Illusion’s speaking was more fragmented, like Cole and Liesel. 

Iron Bull snuck along the gilded pathways alone. If he could get Cassandra away from them, they might be able to find the others. 

But when he saw the spirit and the man again—the man was pulling each of them down from the sky. Like he’d moved them with water, perhaps. Each body lay in a partial circle. Sera was crying. Varric murmured a name ( _Hawke_ ). Each of them twitching with the snowy-white eyes, Bull swore softly to himself. 

The man was standing beneath a large blue…rock? Given the glowing, he’d bet his horns it was lyrium. That didn’t really comfort him. Less so when they brought Liesel forward. She tried to go to Cole but Illusion kept tight hold of her. 

“What is your name, spirit?”

Liesel glared at him. “Let them go!”

“Tell me your name.”

“Let them _go_!”

The man looked at Illusion. “What is her name?”

“Annalise,” said Illusion, seeming to bring up the shades and shadows automatically. Amplified by the lyrium and the strange film of the Fade that blended in here, the living girl Annalise with bells on her scarf.

“No. That’s the human she copied. What is her _name_? Her nature?”

Illusion looked at his feet. 

“Tell me.”

Illusion seemed to be trying to fight the impulse. “I don’t know,” he managed. “I did not ask.”

The man curled his fingers into the air, overriding his will. “What is her nature?”

“Mercy,” he said, bowing his head.

“Not so different from Compassion,” the man said. 

Cole shook on the platform, body seizing. Blood spurted out of his nose.

“Cole!” Liesel broke away from Illusion, running to his side. “Cole—you—“

Illusion grabbed her by the hair and drug her back. Until she whipped around and clocked him right across his face. Illusion staggered back from her. Fade-blades appeared in front of her and she snatched them, striking hard and swift. Illusion cried out, shooting away from her.

“He’s my friend! Leave him alone!”

Iron Bull realized what was going to happen about three seconds before it did. “Oh, shit.”

The man curled his fist, the glowing lyrium pulsed and flowed into him. Liesel tried to run—but he hooked into her being, reeling her back. He overrode her will, fighting inch by inch. She screamed, high and thin in the cavernous space. He forced her to her knees to bind her.

It was now or never.

Iron Bull threw himself into sight, barreling down the bridge to the platform. Illusion didn’t move, so he went right at the strange man. He blasted into him, swinging his hammer. The man flashed away from him. 

_Speed. He’s a rogue?_

“There’s the missing one. Illusion!” The man commanded, “Put him to sleep!”

Almost helplessly, Illusion flashed in front of Iron Bull, grabbing his arm—

Everything changed around them in a flash. He was small again. So small. Looking up at Tama when she smiled. 

“Tama!”

“Yes, I heard you. You’re going to have such nice horns when you get big.”

( _The Iron Bull!_ )

“When will that be?”

“Too soon, probably, little one.”

( _The Iron Bull!_ )

“Will you be here until then?”

“Of course.”

“Even if I get _big_ and I come back here as _Tal-Vashoth_ and _butcher_ you—“

( _No, no, that’s not right. That’s not what you remember._ )

“Even then, little one.”

Liesel appeared next to him. She grabbed him by his little shoulders. “Wake up!”

Iron Bull grunted, jerking back. His eyes were normal again. He and Illusion had been completely still for several moments on the outside. Liesel flashed through the air to grab Cassandra and sent a rocking _pulse_ through her head.

Cassandra cried out, gasping awake. She took in the situation in a flash. No questions. Just jumped up to help Iron Bull, slashing at Illusion. 

The spirit went still, not even trying to get out of the way. “Please, kill me,” he begged, staring up at Iron Bull. 

“No!” The strange man grabbed into the essence of the spirt, dragging him away from Iron Bull. “Use your illusions and _kill_ them.”

Illusion twisted, crying out in pain. 

“Stop it!” Liesel twisted away, slashing with fade-blades at the man. 

The hunk of lyrium flashed bright and the strange man devoured a chunk of it. 

“You’re a rogue—how are you _doing_ that!” Bull demanded.

Illusion changed, a wild mold of darkness, wreathed in lightening, howling like screaming winds. It expanded, enveloping, blotting out the light. Nessum appeared around them. The night the Veil had fallen building itself and then erupting in explosions, violence and blood as the sky cracked apart.

“This is an illusion,” Iron Bull said to himself. “This isn’t real.”

“This one is mine,” Cassandra scowled, reaching out. Grabbing into the strange man—his blood, full of lyrium, Cassandra grabbed into it. He cried out, enraged.

Iron Bull wasn’t sure whether he should move or not. Everything still looked like Nessum but Cassandra was…changing their memories. And then all of a sudden, a brilliant flash of golden light grabbed into him. He felt a flood of warmth and looked down.

There was Eckona, her spirit arm invoked. It really _was_ like a lighthouse—even in these illusions. He took a breath and blinked away Nessum, coming around again to the platform. Eckona slammed her knives into the man. 

“Boss! Where the fuck did you come from!”

“North of Fereldan, south of Tevinter.”

“Fuck you!”

She laughed, whirling around—and then Illusion-turned-Destruction grabbed her hair. For just a second, Eckona paused still—and then invoked her arm again. That seemed to break the hold and she stabbed the demon.

All at once, the illusions collapsed completely. 

Valta sprang up, staring around wildly. Just in time for the lyrium to flash, smashing into her. Her vision went grey and she collapsed. 

“No! Don’t! You can’t!” The strange man grabbed into her, trying to funnel his essence into her, trying to take control of her spirit arm.

“What are you _doing_?!”

“I have to touch the Titan. My brother is down here. I have to touch the Titan!”

“What?” Eckona demanded.

“Wait—you’re trying to gain control of a Titan to find your brother?” Iron Bull said, holding out a hand to stop Cassandra.

“His name is Jeremy,” said the man, panting raggedly. “He’s down here. I have to find him.”

“Who are you?” Bull demanded.

“Evan Tadva. I need your knowledge. I need to control the Fade—it’s blended into this place!”

“This is _stupid_! You just hurt people and excuse your selfishness by blaming your probably-dead brother!” Cassandra growled.

“This place is blended with the Fade,” Evan said, eyes flaring wide and hot. “As the world used to be! The Titans showed me! They showed me!”

Destruction reared up again from the ground, grabbing onto Eckona. It flooded her with power, drowning her in raw will. 

Drowning her in blood. All the blood. Solas. Solas? He died alone. He died alone. He died alone. Cole was screaming. They hurt him. She writhed, screwing her eyes shut and invoking her spirit arm. The illusions collapsed.

Her arm broke the illusions, perhaps. Or maybe it was Liesel’s knives in his back and Cassandra’s blade in his face. That definitely had something to do with it. The boy fell and vanished into the breeze. 

Evan wasted no time, devouring another chunk of lyrium. He threw up violently, blue mixed with blood. “I needed your minds to create the images—I needed her.” He pointed at Valta. “I needed power—you, Inquisitor, your friends. Your _mage_. Your traitor elven mage.”

“Where _is_ he?!”

“He’s the one I was sure you’d come for. All the images in his head. In yours. You’ve physically walked the Fade. How does that effect your power, Inquisitor? Your Mark is gone but the scars remain. You know the raw _power_ he has, your mage? He has so much knowledge—I’m sure I can find the answer in his head! He’s a traitor. Leave him with me, Inquisitor, and I’ll let you walk out of here.”

“Like _fuck_ I will, asshole.”

Evan looked behind him, the blue hunk of lyrium pulsed again. Light flared through it, outlining a body trapped inside…

“Solas?” Cassandra said, eyes widening. “You put him in raw lyrium! Are you insane!”

“I couldn’t hold him with just Illusion. He has too much power and doesn’t even remember it.”

Eckona twitched. She dropped her daggers, invoked her arm, and blasted him with a rift. Cassandra and Iron Bull followed as she barreled across the platform, slamming bodily into the man. 

“I’ve seen your brother!” Evan said desperately, as she grabbed into his robe. “You know the pain I experience at my brother’s absence!”

“Clearly, you didn’t do your homework,” Eckona told him. She grabbed into his face. The air swelled, like pregnant tension before a flash of lightening. She unleashed a barrage of energy, flooding him with burning fire, clouds and lightening, raw essence of the Fade shifting through her cold, hard fury. 

Iron Bull and Cassandra both felt it—her scattered unease from the last months seemed to have disappeared. Now just a swelling, murderous calm remained.

The wellspring burst with light, a heat wave flooded over the others. Eckona dropped the charred corpse. 

“She feels nothing,” Liesel said softly. “She looks at his corpse and feels nothing.”

Iron Bull looked down at the spirit curiously but then Varric cried out, jerking up. He wiped his face frantically. “Where are we! Where am I? Where’s Hawke! I didn’t want to kill him—”

Eckona strode away towards the blue rock of lyrium. “God dammit. Get the hell down here. Stupid lyrium rock. Stupid Titan heart thing! Stupid fucking morons! Who _fuck_ with magic they _don’t_ understand and cause all kinds of fucking _shit_ for us!” Iron Bull exchanged an amused look with Cassandra at the elf’s rant as Eckona reached up with both hands, glittering gold and gauntlet leather and blasted open a rift. It consumed the lyrium like—

“You can’t take the lyrium! It’s the Titan’s heart!” Valta cried out.

Eckona ignored her. She tore the lyrium rock apart. She saw a glimpse of a robe and hilt of a staff. “Get the others up!” She commanded Iron Bull and Cassandra. 

“Lady Inquisitor—“ Valta tried again.

“Then tell the fucking Titan to let him go or I’m destroying the whole goddamn thing!”

Valta jumped to, kneeling and bowing her head. Whatever conversation she might have had with the Titan—no one else seemed to hear it. It hardly mattered to Eckona. The lyrium rock cracked and Solas fell from it. She slid across the platform. She was too short to catch him totally gracefully. So she mostly just broke his fall, knocking her to the floor of the platform

“Solas?” She asked, gently easing him off of her and getting on her knees over him. “Solas? Are you all right?”

He coughed, eyes fluttering open. “Eckona,” he breathed softly, blue eyes meeting hers. “I had such dreams….”

“They were just dreams, _vhenan_. Just dreams.”

“They were so real,” he said softly, reaching up and gently touching her face. 

“I know. But you’re awake now. I can’t let you dream all the time.” She smiled gently against his palm.

“Was that really fucking trippy for _anyone_ else?” Varric asked. “Fuck me. Horrible dreams. I kill Hawke and my parents but they weren’t really them and they had horrible coins for eyes. And mouths full of sharp teeth. Never again, please. Never ever fucking again.”

“Never fucking again? That’s a big commitment, Varric.”

“Shut up, Tiny.”

Liesel was holding Cole, gently rocking him back and forth. He had gone totally limp, exhausted and hurting, eyes wet with tears as he breathed, ragged and broken. Liesel took off his big hat and gently ran her fingers through his hair, soothing and warm. 

“Cole?” Cassandra said, hurrying over to the two spirits. 

“Is he okay?” Iron Bull asked, following her.

“Kid?” Varric asked.

“They tried to control him. But he couldn’t find anyone’s memories except Cole’s. The other Cole. So they couldn’t use it to completely control him but they couldn’t bind him either,” Liesel’s voice broke apart. “So they just hurt him. They hurt him _so much_. Illusion didn’t want to. He begged us to kill him.” 

Trevelyan was sitting up. “Oh my god. Oh my shit. Wow. Remind me not to vacation with you guys ever again. Wow. That was fucking horrible.”

“Where the hell are we?” Sera asked, sounding nauseated and exhausted. “I don’t feel good.”

“Join the club on that one,” Nasha said. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Well, do it over the side,” Iron Bull said. “I dunno what you’ll hit down there but it looks like fucking trees.”

The others staggered over to the side to look. 

“That’s what was hurting the Titan—that man and his magic—whatever it was. He was eating the lyrium and using it to control parts of it. The Stone knows me,” Valta said quietly. 

Whatever personal revelations Valta was having right now, Eckona would have to get the details later. For now, she put her hands on Solas, lifting him up and bracing him on her shoulder. “We’ll make camp here in one of those old houses.”

Arlath staggered up unsteadily but went to Liesel to pick up Cole and carry him after Eckona. She had her arm tight around Solas’ waist, helping the taller elf walk with her. He didn’t say much. She wasn’t entirely sure that he was actually awake, let alone coherent. But inside one of the strange dwarven (?) houses, Eckona helped sit him on the floor. She looked in his eyes. “Solas? Are you okay?”

Solas looked at her, studying her face. “Yes….I could feel it, _da’len_. How much you wanted to help me.” He touched her jaw. “I heard the echoes of all things. When I try to fix things on my own—I make it worse. I think…perhaps I will ask you before I do anything drastic ever again.”

Eckona smiled a little. “Probably a good idea.” She embraced him and though he still seemed a little dizzy and faint, she felt him hug her back. That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wellspring is incredible. I was stunned the first time I saw it. How does it even exist? I mean, there are TREES down there!
> 
>  


	9. Vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

Cole was walking.

Or….was he? He wasn’t entirely certain. He was walking, yes. But…was he _really_ walking? Did he _dream_ now? Everything he saw every day was a blend of the Fade, the thoughts of those around him. But it had quieted so much lately. It was harder to hear. And for the first time since Rhys, he was adrift, without purpose. How long _had_ he been Cole?

Had he come from the Deep Fade? Was he reformed energy from another spirit or demon? What were _they_? Did any of them remain? 

Did…did he remain? 

_I don’t want to be human anymore!_

Someone was crying—no, wait. _He_ was crying. Cole touched his face. A sadness that cut sharper than any pain inflicted on him. A suffocating numbness, a stopper on time. 

He could see them all dance if he looked hard enough. Each in their own fantasy. Eckona in flowing silver—the music was so fast but she moved slowly. Slow-motion, every detail hyper-visible. Every tangle of her white hair, the glittering starlight of her spirit arm. It was silver instead of gold. He liked silver on her. It suited her. 

She held a slender pole-arm with a shimmering obsidian blade. It flew and snapped and struck like a snake. The trees bent before her, the wind whirled in a curling tornado—playing with her hair, her dress, her flashing eyes.

It was a fantasy, more about the _feeling_ than the images. But he could feel it, even through them. It was that lightness. What let him slip into the Fade before. It was that deep desire for lightness. For the wonderful fluid graceful motion of holding a weapon one knew so well. Like a dancer.

_He was their enemy the whole time, but she made him forget so he could change._

Solas flickering into existence beside her and she smiled so brightly up at him, still all the devastating _love_ and terrible wonder when she combed her fingers into his dark hair.

He got the scent of moss and the images around him changed. She was the same and did not appear to notice the shift in location. Solas disappeared. 

_Am I dreaming or is she dreaming?_

But a forest, mist, winking starlight, glowing lyrium in the trees around her. But far off into the dark, inbetween the trees, red light cast shadows advancing closer. Always closer. Phantoms, ghosts, fantasy and terrors. A familiar silhouette, outlined in red with terrible burning eyes instead of calm, steel-blue. An incredible sense of aloneness. And then he was behind her, fingers whispering over her waist and Cole felt two sharply conflicting feelings: terror and _desire_.

 _Fen’Harel_ …

And then she changed.

Sera appeared in her place, running fast on the forest floor. She was a blur of movement. Her hair was long, the wind grabbing at it with quick fingers. Her fingers crawled up a bow, tangling around it, the string a million golden threads, all wound together. A dragon smashed down in front of her.

_I feel—I feel alive, yeah! So alive!_

She was so bright and full of color, springing with her slender muscle, her lean arms bunching to draw back and when she fired—a golden arrow burst apart into butterflies. Still so graceful and dancing but somehow still alone. The forest was bright with sunshine but the edges of Sera’s path rippled with spindly black arms and reaching claws. 

( _The Nothing_ )

Why did the Void frighten her so much? It was different from the dark. It was the absence of everything. Almost like she’d been there before and knew some horror from it so intense that he could not begin to perceive it.

She turned into Liesel but Liesel did not have dreams like the others did. She did not even really sleep. Her memories built themselves around him. Mostly they were _about_ him. He had made a big impression on her. He could see her sitting beside him. He was laying down on a bed somewhere. She was sitting beside him, rocking back and forth like she did sometimes.

Like…like he used to.

Liesel examined her hands, touched her daggers and looked at his. She’d removed them, meticulously cleaning them. They glimmered on the nighttable, in easy reach. She looked back at her hands. “How do I help?” she asked aloud.

She shattered. She burst apart in light and sound and drip-drip-dripping of rose petals and molten glass.

He was somewhere else. In a tower. 

He stood in a cell, staring down at himself. No. Not himself—he was staring down at _Cole_. The _real_ Cole. 

“How do I help?” he asked plaintively, desperately. “I can’t help!”

The real Cole breathed in faintly. He stared at the spirit with red-rimmed eyes. “You….a spirit?”

Compassion looked at the human, kneeling, reaching out. “I want to help you.”

The real Cole half-smiled. A humorless little smirk that made his blue eyes spark. “I’m going to die.”

“How can I help?”

“You can’t, spirit,” Cole said. His chest fluttered weakly. He’d been beaten severely and starved. It was so dark in the Spire. The teeth that eat the sky. 

“I _have_ to!” Compassion begged him. 

“Don’t hurt on my account,” Cole whispered to him, gently. “Soon, I will die. You should go—help someone who needs it, spirit.”

“But _you_ need it,” Compassion told him.

“I’m too weak now. I can’t even feel my magic anymore. It might have died, like everything else. Anna and Garland, and stupid Sourcy. I hope they got away.”

“You let yourself be caught,” Compassion said quietly. “So they could get away.”

“Yes…”

Compassion saw how his eyes were clouding up. “You are a good person.”

Cole’s smile went out with a harsh gasp, curling up around himself. He managed half a broken sob.

“Facing death is never easy. You don’t regret it at all but it’s still scary to die. If I were a human, I could help you.”

“Probably,” said Cole. But the light in his eyes was fading, feverish, flickering. “Are you real?

“There are no illusions here with you. No waft of smoke or shimmering mirrors. I’m…I’m real.” He surged forward, reaching inside. Reaching in and flowing into his eyes where the thoughts lived, where emotions lived, where he could find Cole’s little spark and keep it lit. “I can _help_!“

But when Compassion awoke—Cole was gone. He couldn’t feel him anymore. He’d been a powerful mage and now….he was gone. But Compassion felt…so strange. So…so solid. The spirit looked down at his hands. At Cole’s hands. At his _own_ hands. 

It was disorienting when he stood. 

The real Cole was still lying on the floor. But Compassion stood beside him, wearing his skin. 

“Cole?” he asked softly. 

He could hear images and flashes. Cole’s friends, Cole’s staff, Cole’s hats. He liked his hats.

Compassion liked his hat too. 

( _How do you know?_ )

 

“Cole!” Liesel’s voice, touching his mind and his heart and his essence. She was there in front of him. He reached out, gently touching her collarbones. She looked at him, curious, interested, trusting. Felt her shiver, heard her take a surprised breath when he smoothed his palms onto her shoulders, cupping her throat. Her grey-green eyes and the braid Cassandra had done for her. He felt…confusion. Her skin felt warm and nice. She smelled like warm biscuits with butter. It was nice. Cole’s longer fingers slid a slow, curious trail over her shirt. He lightly touched her breast, thumb automatically seeming to find her nipple, peering as it hardened and he felt her shudder again. 

And then he jerked back like she’d burnt him, flooded with confusing feelings and warmth. 

 

 

Cole’s eyes opened. “Varric…” he said softly.

The dwarf was sitting next to a bed he was lying on. “How you feel, kiddo? You took some hard knocks there.”

“I…feel strange. I don’t…I don’t know if I like it, Varric. Being more human.”

“Well, being a person is really challenging sometimes. Good friends can make it worth it but the choice is always yours, kid.”

Cole sat up, touching his head and his chest and his knees. “Where is Liesel?” He looked at the nightstand, where his knives were laying out, having been recently cleaned and oiled.

Varric smiled crookedly. “She’s hardly left your side, kid. She went for more water. I think she’s watched too many plays. Taking care of you apparently means that she blots your forehead with a cool cloth and murmurs encouraging things.”

“She doesn’t know how to help me.”

“No…I think this limbo you’re in confuses her.”

“It confuses me too.”

“It’s definitely tough, kid,” Varric said, clapping Cole on the shoulder.

“I had a dream,” Cole suddenly told him. “I…at least…I think I did.”

Varric tilted his head. “Oh yeah? What about, kid?” 

“Liesel—she wanted to help but couldn’t. It made me remember the _real_ Cole. And then she was there again. I touched her collarbones.”

Varric blinked and sat up a little straighter. “Did you now?”

“Yes. They were kept hidden away. Under lace and thread and soft cotton, better than any silk or satin. I could feel the ridges of bone. She is _real_. And so am I. I touched her throat and she trusted me not to hurt. Not to squeeze so that her eyes turn red and burst in blood and a rain of tears. Like the flesh would bead apart and the blood would drip like pearls from every pore. I didn’t. I touched her at a warm swell of flesh, small and soft to fit in the palm, a bead of sensation after curious paths and trails. I didn’t know where it went. Neither did she. But I felt it when I touched her. Soft and smooth to a pearl of feeling, budding electric pleasure. She didn’t know what to do. I didn’t either. I was scared. I pulled away.”

Varric stared at him. “Wow. Um. Well.” He seemed to flounder for a moment on what to say. “Well, just take it easy—take it slow, kid. She still has to learn too.”

“Take what slow?” Cole asked him.

“Take….uh. If you decide you want to try to….touch her for real—you should be very careful, Cole. Make sure she understands and allows it. Come to me or Tiny if you have questions.” 

Cole swung his legs over the bed. “Thank you, Varric.” 

“You sure you feel all right, kid? That crazy asshole did….something terrible to you. At least—I think he did. Liesel could barely tell us what it felt like when they hurt you. She just kept saying you were in pain and we had to help you.”

“My….pain…hurts her?” Cole asked.

Varric nodded. “Yeah, kid. She cares about you. And when you hurt, she wants to help and it hurts her when she can’t.”

“Like Eckona and Solas. Arlath and Cassandra. But Cassandra and Anthony too. The Nightingale and her little birds, a chorus of songs in the dark. The Witch of the sun, holding tightly to the moon. Bianca. Rough fingers, feeling pain, Bianca—“

“Cole…” Varric said softly.

“I…” Cole looked curiously at his hands. He stood up and left the room.

 

 

 

Eckona sat on a ledge, kicking her feet with her journal in her lap. She was drawing the strange houses here. They were like beehives, one on top of the other on top of the other. But dwarves having this kind of architecture—was that normal? Hadn’t she read something one time about beehive architecture….

She pulled out the medallion Dorian gave her. “Hey—I found someone here better dressed than you.”

The response was almost immediate, the stone lighting up purple-red: “I _know_ I misheard that.”

“Guess you’ll have to stay and find out. I actually have a question.”

“What I’m wearing will take several minutes, hours if you’d like me to go into the particulars. Which I am happy to do.”

“Maybe when we get back—“

“Are you on your way back? How is Solas? Is everyone all right?”

“Yeah, yeah—sorry. I forgot you weren’t here. It’s so weird, hearing your voice but not seeing you.”

“Such a pity,” Dorian lamented. “I know how much you all like seeing me.”

“Yeah, by the way, Dorian—I will _never_ travel without you, ever again. Everyone gets way too serious. It was awful, Dorian. Anyway—stop distracting me.” She laughed. “I remember reading somewhere about architecture that were like beehives. I was wondering if you could find out who or what that was.”

“Qunari is who you’re thinking of,” Dorian answered immediately.

“Oh! Oh yeah, I suppose in Tevinter, there must be at a little more education about Qunari given the constant on-again-off-again fighting.”

“A shame, really. Countries really ought to learn to hate each other in silence, like the Orlaesians do. But yes—in Qunandar you’ll find houses and things all build into rock like a beehive.”

“That’s so weird,” Eckona said to the stone, looking around here. “Because I found something exactly like that here.”

“What? You _did_?!” Dorian squawked. 

“Yes. I’m drawing some pictures. It’s so weird. And you know….all these things that happened a thousand years ago….Solas and the Veil and Andraste and the Maker—Valta told us there was some kind of disaster down here a thousand years ago. It’s amazing…so many things linked together. I wonder if Solas knows what happened around the world when he cast the Veil. 

“We should look into it further when you get back. I’ll send some birds out. Are you on your way back then?”

“Yes. Thank fuck for that.”

“Good, it’s rather dull here without you. What happened with the puppy?”

She told him about Illusion controlling the pup. “His eyes are pale blue, like lyrium, now. So I’m not sure if he’s still blind or not. But I’ll be bringing him with me, so I’ll get dog hair all over your clothes.”

“That’s cruel, Eckona. That’s very cruel.”

It was a relief to get back to the surface. Everyone had to take a day to let their eyes get used to the sunlight again. Eckona found the nearest nice inn and took out the whole building for themselves and the two Wardens. 

“Seriously, I’m done,” Eckona told them at the table at dinner. Something that wasn’t nug, thankfully. “I don’t want to fight anymore. If anything else comes up, I’m going to throw my hands up and be out.”

Sera chuckled. “Yeah right.”

“It could happen, Sera.”

“You’ll get bored eventually,” Iron Bull said.

She sighed. “I hope not.”

Beside her, sampling some of the inn’s stew and seared beef, Solas glanced sidelong at her. He said nothing but he reached behind her and very gently touched her spine. Silent comfort. He saw her blink but she showed no other reaction, except to lean into that touch a little. 

“What about you two?” Varric asked, nodding to the Wardens.

Trevelyan chuckled. “I’m following you guys for now. Because if I suggest going back to Haven, Nasha will split my head open and deep fry my brains. She’s upstairs right now—trying to figure out how she feels about your little Red Jenny here.”

Sera’s mouth fell open, a chunk of carrot falling out into her bowl. “Wha—really?”

Trevelyan smiled. “Yeah—I dunno if you’ve met other Qunari besides this big motherfucker,” he said, gesturing to Iron Bull, “but their whole _thing_ is just being really intense all the goddamn time. So she can’t figure out if she wants to break your neck or buy you dinner.”

Sera stared at him. “So it’s….it wasn’t just….because we thought we were gonna die underground?”

There was a strange, raw expression in her eyes that made everyone sincerely hope the answer to that question would be favorable. It was strange to see Sera look so vulnerable all of a sudden. She never let them see things like that. 

Trevelyan smiled crookedly. “No, it wasn’t. I think she actually really likes you.”

“Can I influence that decision?” Sera put her bread down.

He grinned. “Yeah. First room up the stairs on the left.”

Sera tumbled from the bench, hopped onto the table and over it and sprinted for the stairs.

“What about Haven? And the Wardens?” Cassandra asked.

Trevelyan shrugged. “We’ll see when we get to the peninsula. The Wardens probably think I’m dead. And even if they don’t—Nasha is my friend. If I want to be happy, then she has to be happy.” His smile softened a little. “She deserves that much.”

“Take it her time in Seheron was rough,” Bull said, tearing apart a hunk of beef with his teeth.

Trevelyan exchanged a look with Iron Bull. “Yeah…it was.”

“Well, no worries. I don’t think I’ve seen Buttercup sprint like that since she heard about Free Beer Fridays at Skyhold,” Varric chuckled.

“I thought that was Doughnut Day?” Eckona said.

“That was Thursdays,” Varric corrected. “Because Wednesday was Wine Wednesday and then Mead Mondays.”

“Shit. I didn’t know about Mead Mondays,” Eckona snorted, grinning.

“She made it up. It wasn’t actually part of Cabot’s thing in Skyhold,” Varric chuckled.

“What the hell, you bunch of alcoholics,” Eckona laughed.

“Like you can talk, Snow.”

“Speaking of,” Bull said, raising a hand to signal for more drinks. 

 

 

They met up with a trading caravan the next day and were glad to ride alongside of them. They were heading to Serault to help rebuild—which was handy—as these merchants had a galley to take them across the Waking Sea. Them recognizing Eckona as the Inquisitor certainly didn’t hurt anything either. 

A month later, they were finally rolling back onto the peninsula. Dorian came out into the main yard to meet them.

“Oh, shit. Dorian!” Eckona jumped off her horse. “We can never travel without you, ever again. We all got too serious and too sad. Holy shit.” She hugged him.

He looked incredibly pleased, grinning, as the others shared similar sentiments.

“How goes your legs?” Eckona asked him.

“Better. Some of the elven mages here are truly incredible. They’ve been helping me research. I think I can ride a horse now.”

“Good. You gotta get good enough again that I can push you off and only worry about messing up your hair.”

“The nerve!” He squawked. “So where’s this rock you said you were going to bring me?”

“Huh?”

“Before you left—you said you’d bring me a souvenir.”

Eckona burst out laughing. “Oh shi—OH!” She whirled around. “Hey! Trevelyan!”

The Warden looked up from his pack and walked over. “What is it—“

“This is my friend, Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is Ivan Trevelyan. Get to know him.”

“Huh?” Trevelyan asked, blinking at her.

Dorian’s eyebrows went up, high and comical. “W-wait. This—wait,” he stammered uncertainly. “I didn’t mean…I mean…I was….I didn’t mean—” 

Eckona gave him a sisterly wink. “Looking out for you, Dorian. Show Trevelyan around. And be nice.”

“I’m _always_ nice,” Dorian said, almost on reflex.

Eckona grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before she walked away.

Trevelyan smiled at Dorian, eyes flickering over him. “Well. Hi. I’m Ivan. Fugitive Circle mage and sort of a Grey Warden commander.”

“Well. I’m. Dorian Pavus of Tevinter. I. Let me show you around.”

Cullen was at the stables, dressed in simple linen and leathers. He didn’t look so tired. He even looked…a little relaxed. At ease. It was nice to see him that way. Faolan caught up with Eckona, walking by her side and then going right up to Cullen to sniff him. 

“Dorian told us you found a pup. I was having the mabari I got in Halamshiral stay with my sister—maybe I should bring him out here so they can be friends.”

“How are you, Cullen?” Eckona asked quietly, leading the horse into the stable to be brushed.

Cullen looked at her horse and then back at her. “I’m….good. I feel a lot better now. Ah—things are better here.”

Eckona smiled. “Tam still here?”

His eyes brightened and he nodded. “She is. She, uh, wants to stay. With me.”

Eckona beamed at him. “I’m happy for you, Cullen. You deserve it.”

He looked to the side, that familiar little twinge of darkness when he thought about who he was.

“Cullen,” she said, crossing her arms. “Don’t you go sinking back into your head.”

He smiled a little. “She says that to me all the time. She’s…so…kind. But fiery. “

“Good, Cullen.” She clapped him on the shoulder. 

“How is Solas?” He asked gently.

“He’s…I’m not sure. He seems all right. But…I’m not sure,” she sighed. “I just want him to be all right.”

“Well—maybe now’s the time to make that happen.”

She tilted her head at him. “What do you mean?”

“He was here before you. He’s changed, Eckona. He’s…he feels different. I never noticed it before—until I was made Tranquil and then Liesel woke me up. I don’t know if it’s because she was a spirit of Mercy or what…but….before he left, he was still jumbled inside. Confused or raw or something. It’s settled more now.”

Eckona looked down at her hands. “Thank you, Cullen…”

“You’ve…been like a sister to me. I mean—haha—not always. But—I mean—“

“I gotcha,” she said, laughing a little. 

“I don’t know…it’s nice. To have people to look out for. And know that others are…well…”

“Looking after you?” She sighed. “Oh, Cullen, you’re the best. You’re my brother now, okay?” She hugged him. “You and Dorian. I’m looking after the two of you until you die.”

He laughed a little. “All right then, little sister. Go find Solas.”

 

 

Faolan followed her up the stairs to her quarters. She put her pack down, removing her body armor and weapons to clean and repair later. She didn’t notice the soapstone statuette of a halla that had appeared on her nightstand. It took some pacing and wringing her hands together before she took a stout breath and went to go find Solas.

Faolan started to follow and then peered at her. He turned in a circle and went to her bed. He nosed at the halla statue, tasted the magic infused in it and then hopped up on her blanket to go to sleep. 

Solas was in the observatory, out on the wide platform where they’d burned Ghilan’nain. His dark hair was bound back in a leather throng and he sat on the stone, paging through a book. He looked elegant, sophisticated as always. He somehow made plain non-descript robes look fine as silk. Maybe she was just biased. She leaned against the pillar in the observatory for a moment, just watching him through the glass wall. 

She felt something tremble in her, shaking up into her chest.

_I don’t think I can hold back any longer._

She strode out of the observatory, slipping soundlessly onto the platform. He still heard her, looking up at her approach. She didn’t give him time to stand. Eckona sat down on her knees beside him and embraced him. Her fingers coiled into his hair and his shirt, holding him to her.

He did not resist, only pausing a moment before his arms wrapped around her. Like they had on another balcony in another keep on another mountain.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she said softly against his shoulder. “I don’t want to risk you anymore. You’re too important to me, Solas. I don’t want _you_ to have to fight anymore.”

His long fingers slid through her hair. “I have done what I can for the People. They don’t need me anymore. I suppose for the first time since I awoke in Ghilan’nain’s shrine five years ago—I’m all right with that.”

“You don’t have to be alone.”

He shifted back so he could look into her face. “…..I know.” 

A shaky breath went through her and she hugged him again, fierce and fiery and protective and he shifted to face her. He brought her in closer and it felt so _right_. She shuddered and shifted, their mouths met and she kissed him. “I love you,” she managed, voice breaking in a soft whisper against his mouth.

“ _Vhenan…_ ” 

That word, when he said it, seemed to shake her. She grabbed into him tighter and laughed a little. “Never letting you run off again.”

He smiled at her. “Then I suppose you best get used to me. I will still need…help sometimes, I think. But with you….with you beside me—I don’t dread the future anymore.”

“Your hair looks great,” she told him, reaching up and wiping her eyes.

That made them both laugh.

She kissed him again and curled up to him. She leaned against his shoulder, holding his right hand, feeling his left comb through her hair. 

Finally. It all felt _right_. This may not have been where she was _supposed_ to be but this is where she _wanted_ to be and that trumped any and all bullshit predictions about Fate. Fuck Fate. Strong people make their own fate. 

Of everything that had happened since she’d left for the Conclave, being imprisoned, meeting people who would become better than family to her. People who she chose to make her family, to all the pain and fighting and death that brought out how sharply she needed to cherish things like love or risk becoming a husk of a person, to losing Solas twice. It had all hurt so much. Sometimes suffering had no real meaning. It just hurt. 

But at the end of it, now she could sit with him again and hug him and she would never let anyone take him away—it was worth it. All the pain and misery could now be put to rest, for both of them. It would take work, of course, but they could find peace with each other. Maybe she could finally calm the anger that had run her so much lately. He was a balm for the helpless rage inside of her and she would support him no matter what. To the death.

It felt good to get up and take his hand and they walked together. The last time they’d done so, had been in Crestwood, when he’d ended it. But now it felt like a new beginning. He was no longer Fen’Harel, she was no longer the Inquisitor.

He was simply Solas and she was simply Eckona. 

“You know what I just realized,” Solas said quietly as they walked to his chambers.

“What?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Your brother’s name—it’s just yours spelled backwards without the ‘E’.”

She burst out laughing. “You never noticed?”

“I didn’t,” he told her, opening the door. “Clearly, I need to make up for that.”

“For what?”

“For not paying attention to the right things.” His gaze turned soft and warm.

She smiled up at him and shut the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so for real now--the end. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the little journey with Eckona if you stayed with me this long. 
> 
> Friends are the family you can choose. Be good to them. And if they're not good to you, drop them. Life is too short and too sad to spend time with people who don't love you.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, beehive architecture in Qunandar: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qunandar
> 
> And then you find something very similar in the Deep Roads. Weird, right.
> 
> I'm starting to wonder if elves were one connected to dwarves and Qunari in some way. There's no talk about them before Solas constructed the Veil. I wonder if they came about afterwards when the Veil basically changed the state of everything ever.
> 
>  
> 
> It's so weird to be at the end for real now. I started writing about a female Qunari and such when I needed a break to think about how this would end. I got really attached to Eck. And Solas, of course. Combined with Before the Wolf--this whole thing ended up being a couple hundred pages. If only I could have that kind of focus with an original idea. Hahaha. I never seem to stick with it as well when I try to write my own stories.
> 
> Well, practice, practice, practice. That's why I write. Also because I enjoy it. And like Varric states when Cole asks him if his characters are ever quiet in his head, if the voices didn't talk in his head so much--he wouldn't have to write so much. 
> 
> I like it when they rattle around in my head. Especially Dorian. He's my BFF.


End file.
